


Hard to Believe in Sundays

by torakowalski



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-18
Updated: 2009-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan shouldn't be making out with one of The Academy Is…'s techs in the dusky brown darkness behind his own tour bus where everyone, anyone, could see. Truckstops and Statelines-era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard to Believe in Sundays

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Nny for beta!

Ryan shouldn't be making out with one of The Academy Is…'s techs in the dusky brown darkness behind his own fucking tour bus where everyone, anyone, could see.

Well, really, he shouldn't be making out with him at all; he and Spencer and Brent have a No Fucking Anyone On The Tour pact (Brendon is exempt because he still has a lot of catching up to do) but Jon Walker is apparently impossible to resist. He's hot and easy to talk to, he's warm and soft to the touch, and he's so fucking tempting that when he touched Ryan's wrist and tipped his head _outside_, his meaning clear, there really hadn't been anything Ryan could do but follow.

Jon kisses really, _really_ well. His mouth is wide and hot, lips wet, tongue offering just the right amount of lead and follow. Ryan's not sure he's ever going to be able to stop doing this, can't honestly think of any reason why he'd want to.

They're pressed up against the side of Panic's bus, Ryan's shirt pushed up under his arms and Jon spreading his hands over Ryan's belly. Ryan can't help twitching and curling the muscles inwards even though he doesn't need to, even though (or maybe because) it just makes Jon laugh and kiss him (_harderdeeperlonger_) more.

Jon's cell phone buzzes up against Ryan's inner thigh and it's so unexpected that Ryan makes an embarrassing squeaky-startled sound.

"Sorry," Jon says, pulling back slowly. "Sorry, let me just -" He pulls the cell out and the vibrations are getting louder, almost drowning out his ringtone, which sounds like the _Wicked_ theme. Jesus, no wonder Brendon adores this guy.

"Hey, what - ?" Jon says into his phone. The collar of his t-shirt is stretched, fraying at the edge and Ryan runs his fingers over it, smiling when Jon shivers, and contemplates how rude it would be to help the tear along, rip Jon's shirt open right here.

He toys with the material a little more firmly, sighing in defeat when Jon's free hand lifts to cover his.

"Sorry," Jon says again and Ryan realises he's ended the call, is back talking to Ryan. "That was William; I've got to get back."

Oh, fuck William Beckett, Ryan thinks but carefully doesn't say. "Sure," he says instead, trying to sound cool, unbothered. "Yeah, I should probably be, uh."

"Ryan," Jon says. He curls his fingers almost tenderly around the hand he's still cupping against his neck, kisses the corner of Ryan's mouth. "I am sorry." He scrubs his hand through his hair; it flops forward again a second later. "Can I get your number?"

Ryan has to work at not laughing; that's just so fucking normal. Nothing's been normal for so long he'd begun to forget what it felt like, but he thinks he likes it. "Sure," he says and takes Jon's phone to program it in.

"Awesome," Jon says when he's done. He wraps his hand around both the phone and Ryan's hand for a second then squeezes Ryan's fingers, slides the phone free and backs away. "I'll uh-" He waves the phone. "Yeah. I will totally call you."

Ryan smiles in the darkness; he almost believes him.

***

"Were you getting lucky?" is the first thing Brendon says to Ryan as he climbs up into their bus.

Ryan trips on the top step and bangs his knee. "Fuck," he says, rubbing it. He glares at Brendon. "No, I fucking wasn't. What?"

Spencer grins at Ryan and makes vague _come here_ gestures with his fingers. He and Brendon and Brent are sprawled across the sofas and armchairs in the lounge, the debris of a half dozen super-sized bags of candy and chips between them. Ryan throws himself down beside Spencer, ignoring Brendon's disgruntled "Hey!" when he has to move his legs out of the way.

"You disappeared," Spencer tells him, rubbing consolingly at Ryan's banged-up knee. "We were taking bets: either you were getting lucky, or you'd been eaten by a cougar."

"Or you'd gotten kidnapped by My Chemical Romance and they were drinking your blood," Brendon says. "That was my guess," he adds unnecessarily.

Ryan grins. His lips are still buzzing from Jon's stubble and he feels good and relaxed, almost like he did actually get laid and wasn't interrupted by William fucking Beckett. "You know, I don't think they actually _are_ vampires," he says thoughtfully and doesn't bother pointing out that they're also not on this tour; Pete only left this morning so there's still an Essence of Mikey Way lingering everywhere he went.

"I don't know, man," Brent says slowly, "That Frank guy got real weird at Give It A Name when I tried to sit at their table with my garlic pizza."

Spencer laughs. "That's because garlic pizza is _gross_, dude."

"Oh and!" Brendon says, ducking the hail of M&amp;Ms that Brent sends Spencer's way and squashing in closer next to Ryan. "I got a peek into their fridge and it was full of bottles of blood."

Ryan tips his head up at him. "Seriously?"

"Well, it was red. Ish." Brendon frowns. "I guess it might have been cherryade." He looks so put-out that Ryan can't help grinning, ducking ducking to lay his head on Brendon's shoulder. Brendon shifts and wraps his arm around Ryan. "Where _did_ you go?" he asks quietly into Ryan's hair, talking under the sounds of Spencer and Brent's rapidly escalating candy battle.

Ryan thinks about telling him; it's not like he's ashamed or anything. Jon's _hot_ and it won't exactly be a shock to any of them that he does things with boys, but his cell phone is a heavy weight in his front pocket waiting for Jon to call and he doesn't want to jinx it. He tucks his chin into Brendon's chest and smiles. "Getting my blood sucked by Ray Toro," he tells him seriously.

Brendon's free hand comes up and rubs sympathetically at the pulse point of his jugular. "I knew it," he says happily.

***

It's just past two in the morning when Jon calls.

Ryan's the only one still up, spread out on the floor in the back lounge because he takes up a lot of room when he's writing and it makes him and everyone else pissed when things fall out of his bunk.

"Is this too late?" Jon asks. "You seem like the kind of guy who keeps funky hours."

_Funky?_ Ryan thinks. "No, no, this is cool," he says, closing his journal and rolling over onto his back; he doesn't know why, but his lungs feel like they need more oxygen. "William keeping you busy?"

Jon laughs. "Yeah, he keeps forgetting I'm not his personal body slave, you know."

Ryan grins up at the ceiling. "That must be really painful for you."

"Yeah," Jon says. He sounds like he's smiling around his words. "It's really fucking sad, is what it is."

There's a pause and it's comfortable enough that for once Ryan doesn't get that anxious, tight feeling in his throat when he can't think of anything to fill it.

"So listen." Jon's voice has dropped a register and Ryan's belly tightens. "It sucks that we got interrupted before. I wanted to, uh. You're really - "

"Easy?" Ryan suggests, because he kind of is, at least when he gets a chance to be.

"No," Jon says, so quickly that Ryan actually believes him. "Hot. I was going to say hot, but then I wasn't sure if that was a bit over-eager and I descended into a tragic spiral of self-doubt so I hesitated and now you think I think you're a slut."

Ryan hopes the others can't hear how hard he's laughing; he doesn't believe Jon knows anything about spirals of self-doubt. "Poor baby," he says in his most patronising voice, the one that always makes Spencer smack him. "But considering I came close to blowing you in the parking lot, I'll let you think I'm hot."

Jon's breath catches then speeds up. "Yeah?" he asks. "Man, I wish it'd been closer."

Ryan pauses, thinking. Maybe getting interrupted earlier was a sign; this is probably a really dumb idea. But, "Hotel night tomorrow, right?" he hears himself ask, amazed at the words that are coming out of his mouth. "We could, uh, pick up where we left off?"

Jon blows out a long breath into the phone. "Okay," he says slowly after a second. "I am totally holding you to that."

***

With this many people invading one small hotel, it's easier to slip away than it would be if it were just them. Spencer is deep in somewhat starry-eyed conversation with the Butcher and Brendon is playing hide and seek with Siska, hiding behind a potted plant that's about half his size and curving his lips into a "Shhh," when Ryan sees him. Brent is… around somewhere.

Jon's slouching comfortably around the corner from Ryan's room when Ryan gets to his floor, but he straightens up immediately when he sees Ryan. "Hey," he says, holding up a hand in a half-wave. He falls into step beside Ryan. "I may have had to lie to get away from the drinking games."

Ryan glances sideways at him, but he doesn't seem to have had much of anything to drink. He smiles. "Surely not."

Jon nods, mock-serious, watching with hot eyes as Ryan unlocks his door. "You, Ryan Ross, are a bad influence."

Ryan finally gets his door unlocked and follows Jon inside, almost tripping himself up on Jon's feet. "You bet I am," he says, possibly growls, pushing Jon back against the closing door and kissing him hard.

And the thing is, Ryan hadn't meant to be like this, this forward and eager. He __never__ means to be like this and will probably cringe about it later, but apparently he's even more tight-wound and horny than he knew and he can't stop kissing Jon now he's started.

Jon doesn't act like he minds, just gets his arms around Ryan and melts back into the door. His hands go to Ryan's hips and Ryan's mouth moves to his neck and then they're sliding, slow and half-controlled, towards the floor, landing in a tangled pile of hands, legs and kisses.

"God," Jon says against Ryan's mouth, "So fucking hot."

Ryan winds his hands into Jon's hair and tugs him down so he can bite at Jon's bottom lip. "Easy," he corrects, "Remember?"

Jon tips his head back and smirks. There's a little spot of blood on his lip and his eyes go dark as he licks it away. "Remind me?"

Ryan struggles back to his feet, holding out his hand to pull Jon up. "Come on," he says, his voice gone hoarse. "Bed."

"Fuck yes," Jon says, jumping easily to his feet and tackling Ryan back onto the bed in one impressively-coordinated move; if Ryan had tried to do that, they'd have ended up on the floor.

Ryan oofs as Jon lands heavily on top of him and Jon laughs, ducking his head to kiss Ryan's stomach, pushing his shirt up as he goes.

It's getting good, more good (_better_, God, Jon Walker's hotness is actually killing Ryan's brain cells) quickly, spine-meltingly good, both of Jon's hands flat against Ryan's hips, then stroking the shape of his cock through his jeans, their mouths caught up in a breathless, continual feedback loop of a kiss when there's a knock at the door.

"Fuck," Ryan says, distantly surprised by how easy it is to reclaim his own mouth.

"Ryan?" Spencer. "Unless you're naked, I'm coming in."

"I'm naked," Ryan yells back automatically and maybe a little unwisely.

Jon snorts quietly and raises his eyebrows. The shape of his smile clearly says _I wish_.

Ryan ducks his head and doesn't blush.

"Ryan Ross, if you're jerking off - " It's a stupid threat because this is the first time they've had separate hotel rooms in, God in ever. If Jon weren't here, Ryan would absolutely be jerking himself off right now. Spencer doesn't get to finish it anyway, because Brendon's suddenly in the background, cackling.

"Hey man, hey Ryan, it's nothing be ashamed of, everyone does it," Brendon says and it's easy to tell how hard he's laughing, even though the laughter itself is silent now. "Everyone without a _girlfriend_ that is." And okay, now Ryan's blushing. Awesome.

But Jon just crowds up against him, kissing the curve of Ryan's ear, which Ryan can _feel_ burning. "Hey," Jon whispers, "It's okay," and he slides down off the bed and disappears, Christ, _under_ it.

What?

Ryan flops down onto his stomach and stares through the dusty, under-the-bed darkness at Jon's glowing eyes. "What are you doing?"

Jon smirks. "Hiding." He waggles his eyebrows over the word, like it's the coolest thing ever.

Ryan feels a stab of guilt. "You don't need to, I - ." Except this is probably just going to be a one-time thing so honestly he'd rather the others _didn't_ know. Jon's obviously picked up on that because he just tips his chin towards the door. "Answer the door, Ryan."

So Ryan does. Spencer raises his eyebrows at Ryan and Ryan belatedly realises that he must look like he was getting off, clothes in a mess, face hot, half-hard, but as that's kind of his cover-story he doesn't feel too embarrassed. Maybe.

"We can come back," Spencer says, looking torn between guilt and giggles, but Brendon's already bouncing into the room, dropping DVDs down onto the bed.

"Sorry," he throws back over his shoulder. "No porn."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Seriously?" he asks grudgingly, closing the door and following them back into the room; he hovers by the edge of the bed, praying no one drops anything or finds any other reason to get down to floor-level. "We watch movies every fucking evening, this is what you want to do with your night off?"

Brendon's taken up position at the head of the bed, ass squarely in the centre of Ryan's pillows. Awesome. "You disappeared," he says, tipping his head to survey Ryan. "So we figured you weren't in the mood to party."

It's sweet and any other night Ryan would be grateful so he can't let himself be too much of a bastard. "Okay," he sighs. He slides the toes of one foot under the bed and feels Jon stroke the arch of his foot like an affectionate dust-bunny. _Sorry_, he hopes his toes are saying. "One movie, then I'm going to sleep."

Spencer laughs. "Sleep," he says slowly, "Is that what they're calling it?"

Ryan sticks his tongue out and snatches up the DVDs. "Wow," he says dryly, "Don't tell me one of you likes musicals."

Brendon grins. "Come on, I haven't seen Chicago yet and Moulin Rouge is always a classic."

Spencer pokes him in the shoulder. "They had classic Die Hard too, but _someone_ vetoed it."

Thank God, Ryan thinks but doesn't say because he knows that Spencer has a disturbing fondness for exploding helicopters. Brendon just shrugs. "Bruce Willis with hair, dude, it freaks me out."

Ryan slips the DVD in, angling the screen just enough that Jon should be able to see it from his hiding place, but not so much that the others will notice. Hopefully.

When he turns around, Spencer is wrestling a pillow away from Brendon and dropping it down onto the floor. "What are you doing?" he asks quickly, and it maybe comes out a little shrill, hence Spencer looking at him likes he's a crazy person.

"Sitting on the floor?" Spencer drawls slowly.

"Yeah, well, don't." There are worse things than your best friends thinking you're crazy. Like them finding the dude you've got stashed under your bed. "You're a guest, get on the fucking bed."

Spencer is still blinking at him, but the bed's big and Brendon's winking at him ridiculously, holding out his arms, so Spencer doesn't argue. Ryan presses play on the remote and takes Spencer's almost-place on the floor. Jon looks up and smiles at him and Ryan makes a face which he hopes conveys how very, very sorry he is. He stretches out on the floor beside Jon and Jon reaches out and grabs his hand. Ryan is so used to Brendon's grabbiness by now that it takes him a minute to realise that having Jon hold his hand might mean something totally different.

Above them, Brendon and Spencer are arguing over something, but then the movie starts and they go instantly quiet. Ryan smirks at Jon's impressed eyebrow-raise, settles down more comfortably into his pillow and watches the movie.

By the time the credits roll, Jon has fallen asleep. His cheek is pressed to the back of Ryan's hand and he's drooling slightly on Ryan's knuckles. It's not endearing. Ryan has no idea why he isn't disgusted.

"Once upon a time I was a shy young thing; Could barely walk and talk so much as dance and sing," Brendon sings loudly, with feeling, making Ryan jump. Jon doesn't stir and Ryan's careful pulling his hand away.

He rolls up onto his knees and glares. "Shh."

Brendon cuts off mid-word to blink at him, confused. "Why?"

_Because the guy I'm hiding under the bed is sleeping_ will possibly not go down that well, so Ryan just glares harder.

Brendon clambers over Spencer and pushes his face right into Ryan's. "Come on babe, why don't we paint the town," he belts out. "I'm gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down." He bounces up on the bed and sings his way to a crescendo. He glances sideways at Spencer and Spencer grins before joining him for a big finish: "And all that jazz!"

It's ridiculous, this whole fucking night has been ridiculous and Ryan drops forwards into Brendon, laughing too hard to pretend he's not.

Brendon beams, looking stupidly pleased with himself and smacks a gross, wet kiss on Ryan's forehead. "My work here is done," he says grandly, rolling to his feet and pulling Spencer with him. "C'mon, Spencer Smith, let's leave Ross to get back to what he was doing."

"What was he-? Oh." Spencer looks half-asleep but he still manages to smirk evilly. It's a gift. "Unless he wants some help," he suggests, nudging Brendon in the ribs.

Brendon perks up instantly, but luckily Ryan is strong and not averse to using his fingernails, so he gets them to the door. "Night guys," he says pointedly, "Thanks for dropping by." Spencer backs out, grinning, and Brendon dances after him.

"Don't go at it all night, Ross," he says, way too loud, "be fucking embarrassing to explain why it fell off."

Ryan closes the door with a very definite bang and locks it firmly, before crossing back to the bed and dropping down onto his knees. Jon really does look stupidly peaceful asleep, but that's not a good enough reason for letting the poor guy sleep all night in the dust and God-knows-what hiding under the bed.

"Jon," Ryan says, but it comes out too soft, so he coughs and tries again. "Hey, wake up."

Jon wakes suddenly, jerking his head up so fast that Ryan only just gets his hand between the top of Jon's skull and the base of the bed. "Hm?" Jon asks, blinking at him.

"They've gone," Ryan tells him, with a slightly wry twist of his lips. "You can come out."

Jon laughs. "Awesome choice of words, dude," he says, dragging himself out from under the bed. Ryan tries to help, but the angle's all wrong and he really doesn't want to break Jon's arm or anything. Once he's standing, Jon looks down at himself. There's thick, grey dust all over the front of his Smiths t-shirt and collecting in the seams of his jeans. "Gross."

"You should get out of them," Ryan starts to say before his brain catches up, but then he keeps going because hell, yes, Jon should take his clothes off.

Jon grins at him slyly. "Yeah? Supposing Brendon comes back with High School Musical, or something?"

"Then Brendon can go fuck himself," Ryan says firmly and starts tugging Jon's t-shirt over his head.

Jon laughs, letting Ryan pulls his shirt off. Ryan gets a face full of dust and while he's distracted by coughing up his lung, Jon decides to go on without him. When Ryan can see again, Jon is standing in front of him, totally naked, wearing a wide smile and two arched eyebrows.

Ryan swallows. Hard.

Naked, Jon's nothing like the kind of guys Ryan normally goes for; he's got a bit of spare flesh around his middle, thick, untamed hair between his thighs and across his chest, but it's not like Ryan didn't know to expect that; Jon was born scene, he doesn't need to try.

Besides it's nice, the differences are reassuring and when Ryan reaches out and cups Jon's cock, feels it swell against his palm, Jon doesn't try to play it cool, just groans low and deep in his throat.

It's honest and Ryan's surprised to find that's what he wants.

"Hey," Jon says, tipping his head back when Ryan slides his fist down Jon's cock, pumps it once, smoothly. "God. Um, hey. Can you lose some clothes?"

Ryan thinks about teasing, thinks about saying _make me_, but why waste the time? It takes him longer to get naked than it took Jon, half because he's wearing more clothes but also half because his hands are shaking in ways he didn't expect. The way Jon smiles at him when he's done makes up for it.

"All right," Jon says and kisses him. It's wet and messy and this is different from usual too, this is raw and open and - _straightforward_. Their teeth clack together, their elbows get tangled when they reach for each other at the same time and they wind up sliding half off the bed before they can hike themselves up and onto it properly.

Ryan ends up on his back with Jon between his legs which he's fine with, but instead of going straight for the lube, instead of making unsubtle moves towards Ryan's ass until Ryan has to say yes or no, Jon seems happy just to roll their hips together while they kiss for what feels like hours.

Eventually, it gets faster, frantic and Jon ends up balls deep inside Ryan but by then Ryan's desperate for it, can't hold back his own groans and moans and pleas while Jon thrusts into him. Ryan shoves back totally fucking wantonly and it should be embarrassing, he should have more distance than this but this is Jon, this is _Jon_ fucking him and Ryan has no distance at all.

***

For some reason, whoever was organising the tour schedule has given them a day off in the middle of nowhere. They tweak some things they've been wanting to tweak since they started playing these songs live, but they're still done stupidly early and the evening stretches out like a dusky no man's land in front of them.

"I'm bored," Spencer says, and if they've got to the stage where even Spencer can't entertain himself, Brendon must have exploded. Or maybe eaten Brent. Come to think of it, Ryan hasn't seen either of them for a while.

"Read a book," Ryan says. It's what he's doing, or trying to, but it's not holding his attention so he sticks a folded receipt to mark his place and passes it over to Spencer.

Spencer turns the book over in his hands, looking at the cover which is cool and black and the most interesting part of the book so far. "Thanks," he says, already flicking to the back page (to check that no one's dead or miserable at the end, Ryan knows; Spencer's done it since he started reading adult books. Ryan thinks maybe he's a little to blame for this; he made Spencer read the _Regeneration_ series when he was thirteen, which is the last time Ryan can remember seeing Spencer cry).

Ryan's sidekick buzzes. It's managed to slip down the sofa and under his ass and he jumps and bites back a squeak. Spencer looks up from Ryan's book just long enough to laugh at him then goes back to it.

_Bored?_ Jon's written.

Ryan bites his lip around a smile and types back:_Deathly_

_we're starting i never or kings or… something. want in? _

Ryan thinks about it; seeing Jon is tempting, spilling his life story to The Academy is not.

_Don't drink_

There's a gap before Jon replies and Ryan has just enough time to consider going anyway - he can sit on the TAI bus and watch Jon get wasted, he _can_ \- when he gets: _meet me outside? _

Ryan peeks out the window while trying to look like he isn't - it's a hard move to pull off. Jon's standing in the open space between the buses, white t-shirt shining brightly in the sunlight, flipflops scuffing up the sand. He looks younger than he normally does, wholesome and safe and Ryan gets this feeling in his chest, like longing.

"Spence," he says, standing up and toeing on his boots. "I'm going to go out for a bit, okay by yourself?"

Spencer doesn't look up from the book, just waves his hand over his head and grunts. Ryan flicks the top of his head and jogs down the steps.

"Hey," Jon says smiling almost as brightly as his shirt is glowing. "Want to see a movie?"

'See a movie' is most likely code for 'make out' and if Jon's got a place they can do that, then Ryan's fine with it. They haven't had a chance to fuck since that night in the hotel, but there have been fast, hard kisses and handjobs in backstage spaces, hickeys that are a bitch to hide.

Ryan really thought this would only be a one-time-thing, but something about Jon lets Ryan relax, lets him just switch his brain off and _feel_. Ryan can't turn that down. "Sure. What've you got?"

Jon grins a wide, smug smile, and pulls a crumbled scrap of paper out of his back pocket. "A movie programme," he says, waving it at Ryan. "Got it off the Internet, want to go?"

"This place has a movie theatre?" The town they're parked outside is tiny and dusty and Ryan wasn't expecting more than a 7-11 and a strip-joint.

Jon drops an arm around his shoulders and starts leading him away, Ryan has to tighten his hips so he doesn't sway into him. "A movie theatre _and_a Pizza Hut," Jon tells him, like it's the greatest thing ever. Ryan laughs.

The next movie playing is one that Ryan's been wanting to see so he hands over the money before Jon can argue. Jon doesn't look like he wants to argue, anyway, just buys them a massive tub of popcorn and two slurpies, giving Ryan little smiles out of the corner of his eye every now and then and Ryan wants to ask why, but he's not really sure he wants to know.

The theatre isn't busy, but there are a few people per row. Jon grabs Ryan's hand and tugs him down to the centre row, standing still at the end of the row for a minute, counting seats before pulling Ryan along to what he's apparently worked out is the exact centre.

Ryan laughs and flicks the top few kernels of popcorn at him. "Dork," he says but Jon just stretches lazily, looking cat-like and content with his location.

"Only the best for you, Ryan Ross," he says, picking the popcorn off his shirt and flicking it back while Ryan laughs.

No one has sat in front of them by the time the lights go down, so Ryan kicks off his boots and puts his feet up on the back of the seat in front, shifting down in his seat so the two springs he can feel attacking his ass don't bother him so much.

After a second, Jon does the same, smiling at Ryan softly when he turns to watch.

Ryan's heart is beating too fast, but he's not about to show it, so he puts his hand onto the armrest between them and raises his eyebrows. It takes Jon three seconds to put down his drink and lace their fingers together and Ryan thinks he should be embarrassed about how excessively teenaged they're being, but he never really gotten the chance to do much teenaged shit so he's not going to give up the chance when it comes.

Usually, Ryan hates making out in movie theatres, hates missing what's happening on screen but this time, when Jon reaches over and touches Ryan's jaw, turns his face towards him, Ryan goes easily, willingly leaning across the divide to lick casually at Jon's mouth. Jon's lips part to meet him and he pulls Ryan closer with hands in his hair.

By the time the movie ends, Ryan is half over the arm rest into Jon's lap and Jon's mouth is open and slow on his, fingers under Ryan's shirt, curled against his skin.

The lights come up faster than Ryan was expecting and he falls back down into his seat, feeling his face heat up and very, very deliberately not looking around to see if anyone saw them.

Jon stands slowly, slurping at his drink and smiling down at Ryan while Ryan tries to get his shoes back on with lust-numb fingers.

"Great movie, huh?" Jon says loudly as they're walking out past the crowds, bumping Ryan's shoulder with his own.

"Mm," Ryan says, not even listening. "Great."

Jon laughs under his breath.

"At least Josh Harnett's hot though," he says when they round a corner back into the main auditorium; the lights are bright and the whole place smells of burnt popcorn.

Ryan raises his eyebrows. "You think?"

"Sure." A casual, maybe unscripted touch to his hip. "You're hotter though."

All this blushing must be doing something unhealthy to Ryan's heart, but he manages to keep his gaze level and it's Jon's turn to squirm.

"I swear that wasn't even a line," he says, slipping his left flipflop off then on then off again, apparently fascinated. "Well, okay, yes, it was a sucky line. But you __are__."

Ryan grins, ducking his head. He's still half-hard, maybe even more so and when they pass the bathrooms he's tempted to just drag Jon in, but something about Jon makes Ryan not want to be tacky.

"Hey," Jon says, stopping anyway. He waves his drink sheepishly. "Bathroom break."

Ryan doesn't really need to, but he takes a leak anyway when Jon does. He's washing his hands when Jon comes up behind him and rests his chin on Ryan's shoulder.

"Hey," he says, hand possessive and hot on Ryan's stomach. "No one here."

Ryan looks around, trying to act like he wasn't already acutely aware of that. "Oh no," he says deadpan, meeting Jon's eyes in the glass.

Jon grins. He tiptoes his fingers down Ryan's zipper and Ryan had just gotten his dick under control but it jerks back up against Jon's hand so fast he can't hold back a groan. "Oh yes," Jon corrects, biting Ryan's neck lightly. "I think I'm going to have to take advantage of you."

Ryan's heart starts hammering low in his belly. He knows he's a teenager, he knows he's supposed to be horny all the time, but being around Jon makes that true to a ridiculous degree. "Fuck yes," he agrees and turns around, letting Jon tug him back into a stall, locking the door with fumbling fingers.

When they finally get back to the toursite and their own buses, Spencer's fallen asleep with Ryan's book over his face and Brent's sacked out on the other sofa. Brendon looks up from where he's silently plucking out tabs on his guitar and grins.

"You got laid," he says, but he doesn't ask so Ryan doesn't tell. He wants to though, he really, really wants to.

He winks instead, proud of himself when it makes Brendon laugh, and goes to take a shower.

***

They're somewhere in the middle of west Texas. It's hotter than hell outside the bus and still kind of hellish inside even with the AC, yet Brent has somehow managed to get the flu.

Everyone else is bored and listless so they're all crammed together in the back lounge, reading or texting or in Brendon's case apparently counting down the seconds until he's been quiet for the ten minutes that Brent begged for and can start talking again.

"Hey, Spence?" Brendon says.

Spencer looks up from his magazine with a half interested "Hm?" It seems to be enough for Brendon.

"Cliff, fuck or marry us three?"

From a pile of blankets and snotty tissues down the biohazard end of the sofa, Brent groans.

"Well," Spencer says, rolling up onto his knees and smiling slowly at Brendon. "I'd totally cliff you."

Brendon's eyes and mouth go round with indignation. "Hey! I would make a fantastic gay life partner; I can cook!"

Spencer's grin gets wider and meaner. "Brent can cook."

Brendon pouts. "I'd learn to give head," he tries. "For you."

Spencer's eyes track to Ryan and Ryan glares pre-emptively. Spencer raises his eyebrows. "Ryan can-" he starts anyway, but he says it slowly, giving Ryan time to smack a hand over his mouth. "It's tempting, Bren, but sorry. Ryan, marry me?"

"Haven't I already?" Ryan asks dryly, making Brent snort in a truly disgusting way.

"You know," Spencer says, turning his head and surveying Brent from the floor. "I think I changed my mind; you're not exactly screaming smoking hot one-night-stand to me here."

"Feel my heartbreak," Brent says, except it comes out in a jumble of flattened d's and stuffy b's and loses a lot of its sarcasm on the way.

"Bren?" Spencer asks. "Same question."

Brendon bounces up, wearing the kind of smile that suggests he's already worked out his answer. "Ryan can be my love slave because he's tiny and therefore easily portable for long journeys. And you two, my lovely boys, can be my husbands."

"That's cheating," Spencer protests. "You can't marry two people, it's against the rules."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Duh, Spence, I'm _Mormon_."

Brent chuckles and Ryan bites down hard on his own growing smile. "My turn?" he asks quietly, shrugging when Spencer looks up at him in surprise; Ryan knows he has a reputation for not joining in childish shit like this. "I uh." He stops because he hadn't been planning to say this, but he's gotten caught up in how fucking much he loves these guys and now it seems like the only thing to say. "I'm fucking Jon Walker."

There's silence, then: "No, hey, no fair, you can't bring extra people into it, that's totally against the rules."

"Brendon," Spencer says softly. "Brendon, I don't think he's playing the game anymore."

There's another pause, then Brendon goes wide-eyed and actually, actually gasps. He flings himself at Ryan, sending them both back into the cushions, his arms around Ryan's neck and one bony knee digging into Ryan's thigh. "Oh wow," he says, smushed up against Ryan's cheek, "Oh wow, oh wow, that's awesome. I love Jon; do you love Jon? No, I know, boundaries; don't answer that, but dude - ." He sits up, grinning and flushed. "That is so very awesome."

Ryan laughs, hoping it comes off less shaky and relieved than it feels coming out. He settles Brendon more comfortably beside him and looks around at the other two. "Guys?" Brendon flings his legs protectively over Ryan's lap like a shield.

Spencer seems to shake himself. "Yeah," he says brightly and it doesn't sound half as faked as Ryan secretly feared. "Yeah, that is awesome. Jon rocks."

"Jon belongs to Academy," Brent says quietly and when Ryan looks at him, the depth of his frown makes not even his swollen red nose funny anymore.

"I don't think they like, own him or anything," Spencer says slowly with a cautious look at Ryan.

"But he's not us," Brent argues, "He's, you know, outside of all this."

Ryan really wants to roll his eyes because _duh_, but he can't because he gets it; they've been them, just them for a really long time. It was them that got him, got Brendon, through their respective family shits and gets all of them through littler things now and then.

He nudges Brent with his toes, aiming for his shin but not sure if he gets it through all the blankets. "We're just fucking," he says softly, even though he feels sick having to say it, even though it isn't true, not really, at least not for him.

***

Later, when Brent has succumbed to all the Tylenol they've been forcing on him all day and the others are working their way through the _CSI_ boxset they picked up last time they stopped, Ryan creeps away and calls Jon.

"I told the others," he says after Jon says, "Hi," and Ryan has convinced himself to stop smiling stupidly out his window.

Jon doesn't say _told them what?_ or anything that might make Ryan fear he's alone in the smiling stupidly department, just breathes softly into the phone. "Cool. How'd they take it?"

"Okay," Ryan says, adding _ish_ in his head. "You don't mind?"

"Nah - ." Ryan's memory supplies the head-duck, the soft grin that always goes with that sound. "I told Tom last week." He pauses. "I'll tell the others if we're having some big coming out…thing, they're just not always the kind of guys you want knowing the secret stuff, you know?"

"No," Ryan says, "That's fine. I just, I think Brendon's probably going to try to tackle-hug you to death or something next time he sees you and I didn't want you to be taken by surprise."

Jon laughs. "Thanks," he says. "I appreciate the warning."

Ryan shifts around in his bunk until he can get his pillow up between his back and the wall, tucking his feet under the blankets. He can hear the whisper of Jon's breathing coming over the phoneline and he tips his head back, closing his eyes.

"Hey," Jon says softly, and in the warm darkness behind his eyes it's easy to pretend that the words are being whispered directly into his ear, not bouncing off a satellite first. "You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

Ryan's eyes fly open, just to check that Jon isn't _actually_ in the room with him. "How did you-?"

"You, uh, your breathing changes," Jon says hurriedly and Ryan smiles and thinks about telling him that he can picture the exact spread and depth of Jon's blush just from the curl of his words and the breathiness of his laugh.

"Talk to me," he says instead. "Keep me awake."

***

The tour gets more intense the longer it goes on and Ryan finds himself seeking out Jon increasingly often, just to soak up some of Jon's unflappable Jon-ness.

He doesn't mean to be monopolising so much of Jon's time, it's not like they're _dating_, they're just fucking and hanging out some, but Jon doesn't seem to mind and it's him inviting Ryan around just as often as Ryan invites himself.

It's mid-afternoon when Ryan makes him way onto the TAI bus and finds Brendon already there.

"Hey," he says, stopping by the sofa where Brendon is sprawled with his head under Sisky's arm.

"Ryan," Brendon says happily, holding his hands above his head and beckoning until Ryan comes all the way up to him. He draws circles in the air, apparently trying to indicate Ryan's make up because the next thing he says is, "You look like a panda, Ross, a pretty pink panda."

Ryan squints at him. "Are you drunk?"

Siska giggles and blows a raspberry into Brendon's shoulder. "Nope," he says.

"Nope," Brendon agrees, plastering on his most angelic smile. "The other thing."

"What other thing-? Oh." Awesome, they have to be on stage in three hours and his singer is high. "Where's Jon?"

"Oooh," Brendon croons, "Is it sex o'clock?" Ryan kicks Brendon's left foot which is trailing on the floor. "Ow. Fine. He's in the kitchen, getting me food. Don't distract him 'til he's gotten me food, please."

"Fine, whatever," Ryan mutters and makes his way into the kitchen.

Jon's humming something that Ryan doesn't recognise, watching a bowl go around and around in the microwave.

"Hey!" he says happily when he sees Ryan. "Did I know you were coming over?"

"No," Ryan says and doesn't ask if it's okay, even though he really wants to check. He doesn't want to look needy. "What are you making?"

Jon licks his lips elaborately. "I," he tells Ryan, "Am melting chocolate. And then I'm going to add some Captain Crunch and feed it to Brendon. I'm hoping it'll make him explode."

Ryan nods appreciatively. "Cool. I'm going to go wait in the back lounge, okay?"

"Mmhmm," Jon hums and waves two fingers at Ryan in agreement.

Jon smells of chocolate when he comes back to the otherwise empty lounge and curls up on the sofa beside Ryan. He puts his palm against Ryan's cheek and kisses him, closed mouth and chaste. "Hi," he whispers.

Ryan kisses him back then licks his lips. Jon tastes less of chocolate and more like how pot smells. "Are you high?" he asks curiously.

Jon waggles his hand back and forth. "Little bit, not so much."

"What's it like?" Ryan asks then clamps his lips together, trying to take it back.

"Being high?" Jon asks, then frowns. "Dude, you've never - ?"

Ryan doesn't often feel like a kid. He's always made sure to do things early to avoid just that.

"Do you have any?" Ryan hears himself ask.

Jon half-sits up, frowning at him. "You want to try?"

Ryan takes a breath. "Sure," he says and yeah, actually, he kind of does. He's tired of being scared of things like this. Jon's looking at him way too seriously and Ryan kind of wishes he hadn't said anything or that he'd just waited and asked Brendon. "It doesn't matter," he starts to say but Jon has apparently come to some internal decision because he stands up and starts to futz around in his duffle bag.

When he stands up with a pre-rolled joint, Ryan feels his heart start to pound with nerves but he makes his expression stay cool, sits up and holds out his hand.

Jon smiles at him affectionately and ignores his outstretched hand. Jon flicks open his lighter, lights the joint and takes a slow drag. "Like this," Jon tells him, before passing it over.

"Sure," Ryan says and brings it up to his own lips. He's smoked regular cigarettes before; he knows the basics and he expects it to be basically the same, but when he breathes in the hit, it feels totally different, sweeter, dreamier almost except that's probably psychosomatic. He doesn't cough and he's proud of that.

"Okay?" Jon asks, shifting to sit cross-legged opposite Ryan and taking the joint from between Ryan's fingers.

"Mm," Ryan says and reaches out to take it back.

Jon grins at him. "I feel like I'm corrupting the innocent," he says and Ryan snorts. "No, really," Jon insists. Apparently pot makes Jon chatty. Not that he's ever exactly _quiet_. "You don't drink, why don't you drink, Ryan Ross?"

_Because I might not be able to stop_, Ryan thinks. "Because I don't want to," Ryan says. He feels relaxed, a little bit sleepy, and he doesn't know if it's the weed hitting his blood stream or just the fact of being tucked away back here with Jon. He reaches out and curls his hand around Jon's knee. "I like you," he says.

Jon laughs and ducks his head, long, dark bangs falling into his eyes. "You're high."

Ryan shakes his head. "I'm not." He maybe feels a little bit high. "Am I? Already?"

"Lightweight," Jon says but he's smiling happily, maybe a little smugly. Ryan realises his hand is still on Jon's knee and he taps his thumb along the outline of his kneecap, drumming out the beat that he can feel in his veins. Jon puts his hand over Ryan's, stroking Ryan's knuckles in a special, tingly way that makes Ryan's toes curl. "I like you too," Jon tells him.

Both Brendon and Ryan giggle their way through their set that night, and it only gets funnier when Brent starts glaring at them and Spencer throws bottle tops at their heads.

***

Ryan doesn't get homesick, not like Spencer and Brent do or like Brendon pretends not to. He's happy in his bubble of touring; even getting up on stage, playing in front of people, is less stressful than most of the days he's had at home.

But he and his dad have taken to calling each other lately, just short, ten-minute chats to exchange updates on their lives, remind each other that they are some kind of family. Ryan never comes away from those phone calls feeling exactly _good_, but he's still glad they're happening.

Then there's a three-day stretch, as they trundle from one no-name town to the next, when Ryan can't get a hold of his dad. He doesn't worry - _tells_ himself he's not worrying - but he calls a couple of times a day, morning and evening like he's pretending his dad still goes to work.

On the fourth day, he gets a call around lunchtime from a number he doesn't recognise.

"Ryan, hey," says a voice he knows but can't place. "It's Mark, how you doing?" Mark. Right. Mark is his dad's favourite carer from the hospice.

"What's happened?" Ryan asked. He knows from experience that this is like a band-aid; it's better to get it over quickly.

"Your dad's come back in, kid, I'm sorry."

For a minute, all Ryan can think is _don't call me kid_, but then Mark's been dealing with Ryan since he was eleven and Spencer's family was away and he needed someone to help him pick his dad up off the floor. "Okay," he says slowly. Because it's not like it's unexpected. Just because his dad was doing well this time doesn't mean… five months isn't that long to be sober, not really, definitely not long enough to start taking anything for granted.

"I'm sorry," Mark says again. "Do you want me to pass him a message?"

Ryan's fingers tighten around his Sidekick. "No," he says, "Thanks," and hangs up.

They're on the road all day that day so Ryan stays in his bunk. He knows he'll feel better if he makes himself go into the main area, lets the others distract him, but he can't make himself do it. Spencer will take one look at him and know something's wrong and he can't face any questions right now.

The buses pull into a rest stop sometime in the early evening and Ryan debates staying where he is but when his phone buzzes with a text from Jon (_academy bus den of sin need rescuing_), he smiles for the first time since Mark phoned and finds himself on his feet.

Brent and Spencer are off the bus getting snacks and Brendon's asleep on the sofa with his headphones on so Ryan doesn't have to tell anyone's he's leaving, make any excuses as to why he wants to, yet he still feels like he's sneaking out.

Jon's sprawled on the sofa, a cigarette glowing between his fingers and a can of Cola resting on his stomach.

"Hey," he says softly, holding out a hand for Ryan. He's sleepy-soft looking and his shirt's way too big for him, slipping around his neck to reveal collarbone and soft chest hair.

Half of Ryan wants to accept Jon's hand and curl up with him for a couple of hours but the rest needs something more distracting.

He catches Jon's fingers and squeezes. "Hey." He tugs a little. "Can we, uh?" If the only place with a spare bunk is the tech bus, he needs to know now so they can get to it before the buses start rolling again.

Jon's eyebrows twitch in a tiny frown, but he smiles easy enough still. "Sure," he drawls. He rolls to his feet and touches Ryan's hip in soft, friendly sort of hello. Ryan can't help leaning into him.

He puts his mouth against Ryan's ear. "Did you know I have my very own bunk here?"

Ryan shivers at the puffs of warm breath. "No."

Jon pulls back far enough to waggle his eyebrows. "You should come see it, it's pretty sweet."

Just being around Jon makes Ryan smile more; it's a true and embarrassing fact. But there's still this restless, angry feeling crawling under Ryan's skin and he needs to shake it off anyway he can.

"Yes," he says, "Please."

Jon catches him around the waist, drags him down into a wet, dirty kiss. "Do I get to know why we're hurrying?" he asks, lips dragging across the corner of Ryan's mouth.

Ryan shakes his head. "Don't ask," he says, "You don't want to know."

Jon shrugs. He doesn't look bothered but Ryan's come not to totally trust Jon's laidback act sometimes; he's pretty sure Jon's going to ask him at some point. As long as Jon doesn't ask him right _now_ though, Ryan will deal.

"This way," Jon says, and grabs his wrist, tugging him into the bunk room and all the way to the back where he pushes Ryan down into a bunk.

Ryan doesn't bother to look around, just grabs Jon's collar and tugs him inside. They don't bother with talking, just kiss and bite and push against each other. Jon picks up on Ryan's desperation quickly, meeting him harsh kiss for harsh kiss, biting Ryan's lip when Ryan pulls his hair.

Ryan tips his head back, trapping a moan in his throat when Jon bites the underside of his jaw then the column of his throat. Jon sucks a hickey against Ryan's adam's apple while Ryan fumbles with his own belt buckle and the waistband of Jon's pants.

They get naked fast once Jon's gotten with the programme. Jon's hot and solid all the way along the length of Ryan's body but it's still not enough. "Please," Ryan says, twisting his hips helplessly, "Please."

"Please, what?" Jon asks against his cheek, "Ry?"

Ryan hates having to say it but, "Fuck me," he begs.

Jon goes still. It's not the first time they've done it so Ryan doesn't understand Jon's reaction. He keeps his eyes tightly closed and tries to keep the desperation off his face.

"That's probably not a good idea," Jon says slowly, "You're kind of - ," he trails off but Ryan knows what he means, he means fucked up.

Ryan doesn't answer in words, just widens his thighs until Jon's hips fall down between them and pushes back against Jon's cock.

"You sure?" Jon asks and Ryan nods quickly, frustrated and needy. Jon kisses him hard. "Okay then, okay, I'm here," and then Jon's slicking himself up, stretching Ryan open and sliding inside. He didn't do much prep and Ryan feels stretched, tight. It hurts.

He turns his head to the side, pressing his face into his bicep. His breath's coming in uneven chokes that aren't the result of what Jon's doing.

"Ry," Jon whispers, dropping kisses all over his face. "Ryan, what?"

Ryan shakes his head. "Please," he says and he's not sure if he means _please don't ask_ or _please don't stop_.

Jon stills and Ryan wants to cry with frustration. "Am I hurting you?" Jon sounds so worried that Ryan's automatic desire to snap at him for stopping gets muted.

"No," he says, "No. Can you more? Harder?"

"Seriously?"

Ryan can only nod. He needs so fucking much and he's scared he's reaching the point where Jon's going to have to say no.

But Jon doesn't say no; he pushes himself up onto his knees and starts to fuck Ryan hard, fingers digging hard into the back of Ryan's hips. Ryan braces his heels against Jon's back and jerkily meets every thrust.

Ryan can't come like this, too strung out and upset but he twists hard against Jon's cock, making Jon grunt and hiss and grab his hips and shove him down to fuck him even harder. Ryan tightens his muscles around Jon's cock over and over until Jon tips forwards and comes with a muffled shout.

"Shit," Jon pants, holding himself up above Ryan on arms that visibly shake. He brings one hand up to palm Ryan's cock, jerking him hard and relentlessly until Ryan has to give into it and come as well.

"Shit," Jon says again and collapses on top of him.

Jon pulls him backwards into Jon's chest as soon as they separate. Ryan stiffens automatically, doesn't like being manhandled when his brain's like this, but Jon just whispers nonsense into the back of his neck and holds him tight, strong arms around his waist.

"What's going on with you?" Jon asks and he doesn't ask like he's freaked out, just like he's worried. It makes Ryan feel strange, good strange, to realise that this is out of character for him as far as Jon knows. Jon hasn't learned to huff and roll his eyes and say _again?_ the way Brent does or even sigh and tug on Ryan's hair and make him tea the way Spencer does and Brendon's slowly learning to.

Ryan turns his face into the pillow but brings his hands up to curl around Jon's arms. "Bad day," he says.

Jon laughs abruptly. "No shit?"

Ryan doesn't say anything and Jon cranes his head far enough to kiss his cheek.

"Anything I can help with? Or should I keep my nose out of shit I don't understand?"

Ryan smiles. "You helped," he says, pressing back against Jon's hips.

Jon laughs. "Stick to what I know best, right?"

"I didn't mean that," Ryan protests, but Jon just laughs again and kisses his mouth this time.

***

As soon as Ryan wakes up, he knows he's on a moving bus but, without even opening his eyes, he knows it's not his bus. He sits up with a jerk and bangs his head on the underside of a bunk, which (_ow_) confirms he's in the wrong place.

Finally getting his eyes open, he sees: darkness outside the window; William Beckett sprawled asleep opposite him; all of Jon's stuff surrounding him.

Ryan rolls out of the bunk and shivers, rubbing his arms and pulling on the first hoodie he can find. It smells strongly of Jon and Ryan tells himself he isn't turning rapidly into a girl for breathing it in.

There's clattering and laughter from the kitchen end of the bus, so Ryan follows that, careful not to tread in anything that looks either expensive or illegal.

Jon's in the kitchen, back to the counter and what has to be one of the best things Ryan has ever seen: a coffee maker in shades of black and silver, shining dully.

"Hey," Jon says when he sees Ryan, breaking off from whatever he was saying to Tom who's sitting at the table, doing what looks like a crossword puzzle.

"Hi," Ryan says, feeling weird and out of place.

"Morning," Tom says. He stands up and gives Jon a long sort of look at Ryan can't quite translate, but it's pretty obvious anyway what it's likely to be about. Especially when Jon blushes a soft sort of pink and turns his back on them.

"Coffee?" he asks.

"Please," Ryan says and debates what to say to Tom. Tom seems like an okay kind of guy, but Ryan doesn't know him well.

Tom apparently has no such worries because he pats Ryan on the ass on the way out the room.

"Sorry," Jon and Ryan say at the same time.

Jon laughs, looks up with an obvious effort. "I was just apologising for Tom. What have you done?"

Ryan walks around the table and accepts a mug of coffee, steaming and black and smelling so damn good. "Freaking out on you last night; falling asleep in your bunk. Take your pick." He stops. "Oh shit, _my_ bus."

Jon steadies him before he can drop the coffee trying to get his cell out of his pocket. "I called Spencer. He says to tell you they're not saving you any Pop Tarts. Also there was something about stealing William's new jacket for Brendon, but I'm pretty sure I shouldn't pass that bit on."

"Okay," Ryan says, and breathes.

"C'mon." Jon nudges him gently towards the sofas. "I was going to bring you coffee in bed but seeing as you're up." He digs under the sofa cushions until his hand emerges clutching the remote. "Cartoons!"

Ryan smiles. His head's still a little bit spacey but nothing on yesterday and it's probably nothing that coffee can't fix. Jon pats the space beside him on the sofa and Ryan amends his opinion. Coffee and _Jon_ maybe. He curls up against Jon's shoulder, sipping carefully at the hot coffee and closing his eyes.

Next time Ryan wakes, the bus is stopping. He listens to himself muttering rebelliously against the day and presses his face deeper into the scratchy fabric of Jon's t-shirt.

Jon's shoulder shakes when he laughs and there's a short pressure against the top of his head like Jon kissed Ryan's hair. Ryan wonders if it would be okay to stay here all day.

There's rattling at the door almost immediately after that thought and then the Butcher's letting Brendon and Spencer in. Spencer looks around curiously like he expects TAI's bus to be some kind of red-satin brothel and Brendon is brandishing a wooden spoon.

"Jon Walker," he cries, leaping into the room and falling down onto his knees in front of Jon and Ryan. "Unhand our Ryan Ross."

Ryan tips himself so he's upright and glares at Brendon. "Are you casting me as a fair maiden?"

Spencer rolls his eyes over Brendon's head. "He's already told me I'm his noble steed," Spencer says deadpan and Jon laughs.

Brendon frowns at him. "You're not off the hook, yet. Explain yourself."

Jon ducks his head and flutters his eyelashes Brendon's way. Ryan's charmed and Ryan's never charmed by anything. Except maybe Brendon sometimes, but he's not going to admit that. "I couldn't help it," Jon says, hushed and sincere. "He was just so damn cute I couldn't resist."

Spencer laughs and Brendon grins, bouncing up onto the sofa on Jon's other side, propping his chin on Jon's shoulder. "I frequently have that problem," he says earnestly. "I think it's the hair. Or that adorable thing he does with his nose." Ryan makes a face at him and Brendon beams, framing Ryan's face between his squared together fingers. "Yes!" he says, clapping his hands together. "I call it the look of love."

Ryan flips him off.

Spencer leans over the back of the sofa and pokes Ryan's ear.

Ryan twitches and bats at him. "What?"

"You okay?"

Ryan glances over quickly to where Brendon and Jon are duelling to the death or something. "Yeah," he says. Then because lying by omission doesn't ever work with Spencer, adds, "Now."

Spencer nods once, quickly. He steps around the sofa to pull Brendon out of the way of a well aimed wooden-spoon-thrust. "We're going for breakfast," he says. "You're invited too, Jon."

Jon waves the spoon in the air, grinning. "Spencer Smith, I'd love to."

***

It's always loud when all the bands are done for the night, everyone adrenaline high and releasing it all over each other, so it takes a minute tonight for anything different to register.

Then the shouts and laughs change to shouts and yells and over the top of it all someone - William Beckett ten to one - yells "Bitch fight" and Brendon says "Ooh, where?" and bounces to the door with one shoe on.

Ryan isn't really interested, in fact Ryan _really_ isn't interested, but he idly watches Brendon make his way towards the noise, so he can see when Brendon's stance changes, when his shoulders go stiff, hear when he snaps "Oh fuck," and goes racing across the lot.

Spencer's already on his feet and Ryan follows, the two of them starting to hurry and ending up running after him.

There's a crowd gathered between the buses and Brendon's pushing his way through so Ryan grabs the back of his hoodie and squeezes along the path he's making before it closes behind him.

They burst out into the opening and Ryan's fingers unclench in shock, a startled "Shit," caught behind his teeth as he takes in the most unlikely sight ever.

Jon and Brent are locked together on the ground, Brent's fist pressing into Jon's jaw, one of Jon's arms braced across his throat. There's blood on Brent's mouth and a livid red bruise forming under Jon's right eye.

"What the fuck, what the fuck?" Brendon's demanding, wading into the fray and everyone seems to snap back to life, forced into action by the sight of tiny Brendon in his lurid pink hoodie and one shoe doing what they should have done.

It's easy to get them separated when everyone finally helps - Jon and Brent might have more meat on them than most people here but basically they're still short guys who mess around with guitars for a living and neither of them are exactly Rambo.

Tom Conrad and the rest of The Academy close ranks around Jon and Spencer and Brendon do their best to cool Brent down and Ryan's left standing awkwardly a couple of feet closer to his band, but not really part of either group.

Ryan doesn't help, can't. There's adrenaline racing fast and far too hard through him and he thinks that if he starts to speak he's going to start to scream.

He waits just long enough to hear Brent, whiny but still mad-sounding, protest "He started it. He hit me first," and breaks away from everyone, moving, moving until he's too far away to hear anyone talking anymore.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, or where he is -- he's away and it'll do -- before he hears footsteps.

"Ry," Spencer says quietly, coming up behind him.

"I want to knock their heads together," Ryan forces out, keeping his hands in carefully balled fists so he doesn't do something stupid like punch the next person he sees. If he punched Spencer, he'd have to like, kill himself and that would suck.

Spencer rests his head against the back of Ryan's neck and nods. "Good plan, want help?"

Ryan manages a smile, but it's not very good, so he's glad Spencer can't see. "Did they say what it was about?"

Spencer's quiet for a second. "No." Then, "But there's no way you don't know."

Ryan wraps his arms around himself. He's cold, but he doesn't start shivering until Spencer's arms come up to mirror his, chin hooking over his shoulder. "It might not have been about me," he tries. "They - "

"Don't have anything else to talk about. They're not exactly friends, you know."

Ryan does know, but he's been ignoring it. Spencer and Brendon love Jon and he'd told himself that that was enough.

He looks down at the toes of his boots and doesn't say anything. This isn't what they started the band for, this is kind of the opposite of what they started the band for. He doesn't need to say it though, not with Spencer.

Ryan gives himself one more minute of soaking up Spencer's body heat then steps away. "I'm going to go talk to Jon."

***

Tom opens the door to the TAI bus and stops for a minute, hesitating, before waving Ryan in. Ryan's grateful that Tom doesn't try to talk to him. Ryan has exactly the right number of words in his head for this and none to spare.

"In the back," Tom says quietly behind him and Ryan nods without turning around, makes his way back to the bunks just concentrating on his breathing, on not turning tail and running, not puking all over everyone's stuff.

Jon's lying on his back on someone's bunk, glaring at the ceiling, but he manages a small smile when he sees Ryan. It's not very hopeful and that makes Ryan feel worse.

Ryan takes a minute just to stand and take him in. Jon is strong and solid and Ryan's always found that reassuring, but right now all he can see is the guy who thumped Brent and he feels wary, tense.

"So, uh," Jon starts, sitting up. The bruise on his chin is livid and swollen, the kind that will go purple then green then yellow then pink and still-just-there, before finally fading away. "Sorry about hitting your bassist."

The thing is, he honestly does look sorry, sorry and kind of miserable, which Ryan thinks is probably something to do with the attitude Ryan is projecting, but he can't help it, can't stop. "Did you start it?" he asks, because that's what he has to know.

Jon shrugs. "I hit him first, if that's what you mean."

Ryan feels suddenly, overwhelmingly sick. "Want to tell me why?"

Jon's face contorts. He looks down, back up, licks his lip, bites it, and finally shakes his head.

"Okay, so," Ryan can feel himself losing his conviction; he doesn't want to do this, so he's going to have to do it fast. "I can't. I can't see you anymore, I'm - " _sorry_ sticks in his throat, because he's not, he tells himself, he's not. He's not at fault here.

He can't look at Jon any longer, can't wait to see if he looks hurt or relieved or just tired like Ryan feels, so he turns on his heel and leaves.

His eyes are burning and his throat feels full but he's trained himself out of crying. Ever. He's not going to start again now.

***

Back on their bus, the atmosphere is awkward. Thinking back, maybe the atmosphere's been awkward for a while and Ryan's just been too busy falling in love to notice.

Brent's hunched down on the sofa, with an icepack on his cheek and a glare on his face that would tell Ryan to back the fuck off even if that wasn't already his plan. Brendon and Spencer are on the floor, playing Guitar Hero with the music turned right down. Brendon misses three yellow stars in a row when Ryan walks in and Spencer stops playing all together.

There's plenty of room on the sofa but Ryan kind of can't look at Brent at the moment, so he sits down next to Brendon and takes the controller out of Spencer's hands.

"You might want to play, Bren," he says, picking up easily where Spencer left off. He really hates this game. "I'm going to kick your ass."

After about a half hour with the three of them switching off with the two (hideous, fake) guitars and not saying anything beyond, "Hey, I love this bit," and "Star Power coming up," Brent gets up and walks off.

Spencer leans across and pauses the game, but Ryan keeps his eyes down, brushing his fingers over the little coloured keys, hoping to somehow develop transportation abilities. Paris, he thinks, might be nice this time of year.

"Ryan." Brendon's fingers are warm on his knee. "Did you see Jon?"

Ryan's bangs have fallen low into his face, so he risks a glance upwards. Brendon's biting his lip. "Yeah. I. We're, uh, over."

"You broke up with him?" Brendon sounds appalled and the warm fingers are gone.

"He chose Brent," Spencer says quietly, and Ryan breathes because yes, thank God, someone gets it. Except Spencer doesn't exactly sound pleased.

"He's Brent," Ryan says, hoping that will explain what he can't really explain. Jon is… more than Ryan ever expected to get outside the pages of his notebooks, but Brent is part of his childhood, part of his band, and that's got to mean more.

"Yeah," Spencer says slowly. "But he's _Brent_."

***

It's late and Ryan's the only one still up. Jon was right when he said about Ryan's funky hours but Ryan is trying really, really hard not to think about that.

Spencer and Brendon had tried to stay up with him but first Brendon and then Spencer had fallen asleep on the sofa and Ryan had kicked them out. He moped better alone anyway.

When there's a knock on the trailer door though, Ryan wishes he'd kept one of them around to run interference. The outside world has never been Ryan's favourite thing and he's even less keen than normal on it right now.

"Hey," Tom Conrad says and Ryan doesn't really know Tom but he seems decent enough; he's Jon's best friend, he has to be okay, so Ryan lets him in.

Ryan's not great at saying no to people he doesn't know anyway.

"You know he didn't start it, right?" Tom says, straight to the point.

Ryan shrugs, looking away.

He hears Tom huff out a frustrated sigh and wouldn't be surprised if he's the cause; he knows he's being pretty annoying right now. He can't help it though, it's him.

"Wilson had been shooting his mouth off for a while and Jon was ignoring it like we all were. We don't wanna get in the middle of band shit, you know? But then Wilson said. Okay, so Wilson said something that no one would be able to sit around and hear being said about their boyfriend without reacting. I don't know what you're thinking, Ryan, but Jon isn't an aggressive guy, hell he's so fucking laid back sometimes I want to poke him to check he's still breathing."

"What did Brent say?" Ryan asks.

Tom doesn't say anything for a minute and reluctantly Ryan looks up at him. When their eyes meet, Tom shakes his head. "Like I said, I don't want to get in the middle of your band stuff. Jon'll kill me enough just for coming here."

Ryan wishes Tom _hadn't_ come here; he's perfectly content being pissed as hell with Jon, thanks very much.

"Right." Tom lurches back up to his feet. "Okay, I've said my piece. Look, Ross." He stops, almost at the door, but facing away from it, all of a sudden. "Jon's really into you, okay? It's fucking shitty to punish him for that."

Ryan doesn't answer, just watches until Tom sighs again and leaves. "That's not why I'm mad," he tells the empty lounge. The lounge doesn't try to tell him it'll be okay.

***

The reason why Ryan has rules against sleeping with people on tour is that eventually it all blows up in your face and then it's like one giant playground fight, with everyone picking sides and weighing loyalties.

It's been three days and he's sick of it.

It really doesn't help that Brendon and Brent are fighting. Ryan would love to stay locked up in his own private misery and claim not to have noticed, but that's hard when he literally walks in on them in the middle of a frantic, whispered hissing match.

Ryan stops in the doorway, shocked. He's the only one Brendon will ever really raise his voice to, and only then after hours and hours of snapping at each other first.

"What?" Ryan asks, interrupting. It occurs to him too late that he would have been better off staying quiet; then he might have found out what was going on. He's not sure how much he cares though. About anything.

Brendon and Brent both go instantly silent, turning to Ryan with caught-out expressions.

"Nothing," Brent says quickly, glaring quellingly at Brendon.

Brendon glares back, or tries to. Mostly he manages to look flushed and conflicted. "Brent has something he should tell you." He's talking to Ryan but he doesn't look away from Brent. He looks miserable but stubborn.

"What?" Ryan says, folding his arms across his chest. Whatever it is, he doesn't think he's going to like it.

"_Nothing_," Brent says again. He widens his eyes at Brendon. Brendon bites his lip.

Ryan really doesn't have time for this. He just wants to grab a glass of water then go back to his bunk where he can listen to Fall Out Boy on his headphones, write lyrics that will never see the light of day and work on not smiling at any of the ridiculous texts Spencer sends him.

"You know what," he says, "I don't care."

"It's about the thing," Brendon says quickly. "The fight. Brent and Jon's fight."

Oh, Ryan _really_ doesn't want to know now. He understands that Brent probably started it - it's what Tom said and Ryan believes him - but he doesn't want to _know_ it. "Drop it," he tells Brendon.

"But," Brendon says. He's looking at Brent like Brent has personally betrayed his faith in the universe. Brent shrugs and looks away. Brendon's shoulders sag. "Fine," he says and starts to walk away. He stops in the doorway. "If Jon calls, will you talk to him?"

Ryan can't look at him, just shakes his head. Brendon makes a sad, frustrated noise and stomps out.

***

Jon does call. Ryan doesn't answer. Neither of those are a surprise to Ryan.

He spots Brendon out the window a couple of times, trailing unhappily back and forth from the techs' bus to theirs. He clearly wants to tell Ryan whatever it is that he's found out about the fight, but Ryan won't listen. There's nothing Brendon can say that can make it not have happened.

While Brendon clearly won't pick sides, Spencer _will _, but he's obviously unhappy about it and Ryan catches him giving Brendon notes and candies and magazines that he hasn't even read yet to take across to Jon.

Ryan isn't really talking to Brent, so he doesn't know if Brent knows or cares about what's going on. If he had to put money on it though, he'd bet Brent is relieved that his daily dose of gay has been reduced to their stage shows, where he long ago learned to put up with it.

 

***

After two more days, Ryan decides he's reach his (admittedly pretty high) emo limit and finally checks the close-to-fifty messages on his Sidekick. Then he calls Pete. "Pete," Patrick tells him, sounding apologetic, "Is a bit tied up. My Chem are in town."

"Oh," Ryan manages. He's dug up his feelings, the few he's okay with sharing anyway, and now he feels like he's got nowhere to put them.

"Ryan," Patrick says quietly and Ryan thinks okay, Patrick's okay, he'll do. "This band thing, I know it feels like everything now, but it won't always, it might not always be."

_Says the straight boy who tours the country for a guy who's hopelessly in love with him_, Ryan definitely doesn't say.

"The band, though," Ryan says helplessly.

"I like Brent," Patrick interrupts. "And when I say this you're totally allowed to hang up on me, but don't you think, even a little, that Brent's holding you guys back?"

Ryan hangs up on him.

***

Ryan doesn't exactly let himself think about what Patrick said - except for the way that he totally thinks about it, obsesses over it really, looking at Brent in ways he hadn't before. But he doesn't let himself come to any conclusions, so that still counts - but on the last full day of tour, he sucks up his courage and goes looking for Jon.

He's not that hard to find; Ryan meets him half way across the parking lot between their buses.

"Oh," Jon says, coming to a sudden stop. "Hey."

Ryan nods; he can't really find his voice. Jon's gotten more tanned in the days that Ryan hasn't been looking at him, and he's got stubble like he hasn't shaved for a while and since when did scruffy and outdoorsy get hot?

Jon curves a palm over the back of his own neck, bobbing a little in place. "So I was coming to find you." He smiles a little, down towards his feet. "Obviously."

"Yeah." Ryan clears his throat. "Me too. Coming to find you." He stops himself from adding an _obviously_ of his own; this isn't poetry, it doesn't need mirror repetition.

"Right." Jon looks around, left then right and oh yeah, they're kind of in a very public place and half the tour would probably not be against eavesdropping on them.

"The dressing room's empty," Ryan says then feels his cheeks go hot because he didn't mean that how it sounded. But Jon just nods and turns, waiting for Ryan to walk in step with him before they head into the venue.

"Are you, um," Ryan starts to say when the dressing room door has closed behind them.

"I just," Jon begins at the same time.

Ryan looks down at his feet. "You go," he says and Jon, thank God, doesn't argue.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," Jon says and the way he says it is simple, easy but it makes Ryan's heart lurch in a really horrible way.

He clears his throat. "Yeah."

Jon shifts his feet into then out of his flipflops and Ryan smiles because that nervous habit is familiar by now. "What were you going to say?" Jon asks and Ryan looks up because Jon's voice is suddenly a lot softer and a lot closer.

Ryan draws his shoulders back and lifts his chin because Jon is always telling him to have more confidence in what he wants to say. "I was just going to ask if you were looking forward to getting home." Lame, so lame.

"Yeah," Jon says, smiling. "Yeah, it'll be good." Ryan struggles for something else to say and Jon takes pity on him and keeps going. "My friend's got her prom in a few weeks; I said I'd go with her. Should be fun."

"Right." Ryan has no excuse for the jealous lurch in his stomach. Jon can do whatever the hell he wants.

"Okay," Jon says after a beat. "So that was shitty. Ryan, fuck, I'm sorry. She's just a friend, I swear."

Ryan shrugs. "It's all the same to me," he says, lies.

"Yeah, I don't believe that," Jon says and kisses him.

It takes Ryan a second to realise it's happening and then another to decide that thank _God _it's happening and by then Jon's hands are in his back pockets and he's crowding Ryan back against the make-up table.

Ryan doesn't normally let anyone crowd him anywhere but his head's spinning with the unexpectedness of this. Not that it should have been unexpected, he realises. He just sought out somewhere private with his ex on the last day they were going to be anywhere near each other; break-up sex was pretty much to be expected.

Jon fumbles Ryan's fly open and Ryan hops up onto the table behind himself, pulling Jon close with his calves against Jon's hips, tangles his hands in Jon's hair and pulls while he bites Jon's bottom lip.

"Fuck," Jon says and gropes Ryan's cock through his boxers until Ryan shifts up enough to get his pants and underwear down to thigh level and returns the favour for Jon, fumbling until he can get both their cocks in his hand.

Jon's vocabulary seems stuck on _Fuck_ and Ryan gets that; it's pretty much the only thing he can think too.

Jon pushes Ryan backwards until he's lying across the table and half-climbs him, holding Ryan's other hand down over his head, fingers tight around Ryan's wrist while the back of Ryan's hand is pressed to the cold, painted-brick wall.

Their cocks slide together slickly and Ryan squeezes hard enough to make them both cry out when Jon bites down on the hollow of Ryan's throat.

Jon's rough and frantic, which is hot as hell but not very Jon-like and Ryan would love to soothe him, but he can't. This is break-up sex; he doesn't know how to break up gently.

Ryan comes first because Jon is everywhere, touching him all over and he can't withstand that, and he's still shaking through his aftershocks, starting to feel the places where he's going to be bitten and bruised, when Jon gasps through his own orgasm and falls heavily on Ryan's chest.

"Oh," Ryan says because all the breath's been knocked out of him but it would work to convey _Oh holy fuck, this was a bad idea_ too.

Jon pulls back, just far enough that Ryan can make out his sex-softened features without going cross-eyed. Jon's eyes dip down to Ryan's mouth and Ryan can see the exact thought process as it crosses his face, how he plans to coax Ryan into a soft kiss the way he always used to, how he realises that's not what they are anymore, and then how his whole face closes down before he pushes back and off of Ryan.

"Uh," Jon says and Ryan just lies there and watches while he shoves himself back into his pants and fastens them with shaking fingers. Ryan's surprisingly content just to lie here and watch. His heart's given up, he's pretty sure, and it's taken his brain with it.

Jon stops in front of Ryan when he's dressed again. Ryan does him the courtesy of pushing up onto his elbows so he can meet his eye. "Ry," Jon says and puts his hands on Ryan's shins.

Ryan jerks under the touch without meaning to. "Sorry," he says. He feels stupid now, _cold_ and stupid and he fumbles pants and boxers back into place, tugs his shirt down.

Jon's hands tighten. "Ryan," but Ryan looks away.

"Bye, Jon," Ryan says and he's good, he's so close to keeping his voice completely monotonous.

Jon's head drops down onto his chest and he stands there for a beat, then a second. "Right," he says. His fingers are gentle when he rubs them over the exposed place between Ryan's pant leg and his sock. "Bye, Ryan."

Ryan closes his eyes until he hears the dressing room door close. Everything's burry when he tries to open them so gives up on that and lies back down on the table.

***

He's still in the dressing room when Brendon and Spencer come crashing in but at least he's moved to the sofa.

"Oh thank God," Spencer says sounded worried and exasperated. "Don't you ever answer your cell, asshole?"

Ryan shrugs. "I don't think I have it." There's no paper in the room so he's been writing on his arms in someone's abandoned eyeliner; if the circumstances were different, he'd be proud of his levels of emo.

Someone huffs and someone sits down next to him but for once they're not the someones he expects. "Don't mope, Ross," Brendon says, slinging his arm around Ryan's shoulder and tugging him in. "It's my month to be the emo, angsty one."

Ryan lifts his head, making an enquiring noise. He wouldn't exactly be surprised if he'd missed something; he never claimed to be all that attentive to the outside world.

Brendon shakes his head. "Just the usual." He urges Ryan's head back down onto his shoulder and presses a messy kiss against Ryan's forehead just above his temple, using his free hand to rub up and down Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan can't help it; he knows it's needy and pathetic, but he curls into Brendon's arms and lets Brendon take his clumsy turn at curing Ryan's woes. Mostly this involves really tight hugs but Ryan can get on board with that. Especially when Spencer sighs a minute or two later and sits down on Ryan's other side, hooking his chin over Ryan's shoulder and sliding one arm around Ryan's waist.

***

After the tour ends, things get… not better, but they get over. They all go home, and Ryan loses the tight, scared feeling under his skin all the time from worrying that he's going to inadvertently turn a corner and bump into Jon at any time of the day or night.

He'd thought being home might be better, not that home is ever _good_ but he thought it might help jolt him out of this, help him to get over Jon, and in a way it does. Missing Jon eventually becomes an ache not a cancer, and when he laughs he starts to feel like he means it. At the same time, the break is when everything starts to really go downhill with Brent and while yeah, the Jon thing had sucked, it had only sucked for him. This Brent thing is hurting all of them.

Being home means going back to nights spent in Spencer's room, staring at the same ceiling they always used to stare at, making plans like they always used to make, only this time their dreams have roots that stretch into reality. That doesn't make them any less scary or Ryan any less desperate to reach them.

Ryan wakes to thuds, shouts and a slamming door. Still half asleep, it takes him three seconds too long to remember where he is and that it's a good idea to get up.

When he does, he finds Brendon and Spencer sitting together in Spencer's lounge just kind of looking at each other. Apparently there was some kind of band meeting and no one invited Ryan. He makes a note to be pissed about that.

"Brent?" Ryan asks because who else? He feels more tired than when he fell asleep.

"Gone," Spencer says.

"Okay." It's not okay. It's shitty. "Is he coming back?"

Spencer shakes his head. But it's _I don't know_ not _No_ so Ryan manages not to completely lose his shit.

He sits down between Spencer and Brendon and closes his eyes. After a second, Brendon's head drops onto his shoulder and Spencer's hand wraps around his knee.

"What are we going to do?" Spencer asks, and it's only this close to their ears, only with just the two of them, that Spencer will ever let himself sound that young and scared.

"Wait," Ryan answers easily, because what else? No one moves for a long time.

***

They wait. They wait as long as they can but they're scheduled for Weenie Roast in LA and they can't wait forever.

They call Brent from the road, leave a message telling him to stay the fuck home. Then they call Pete and barely manage to stop themselves from saying _Help us_.

"Shit," Pete says which Ryan thinks works. Spencer's driving and Brendon's got his Sidekick on speaker on his lap. If Ryan could maybe get his mouth working again he would tell Pete that that was an excellent summing up of the situation. "Okay, hang on. Let me think."

There's silence on the other end of the line and Brendon reaches over the space between them and squeezes Ryan's hand hard enough that Ryan worries about broken fingers. He squeezes back just as hard. For luck, he reaches over the stick and curls two fingers in Spencer's belt loop, hooking them all together because Spencer and Brendon are all he has now. There's no way in hell he's letting them go.

"Okay," Pete says. "Look, I can cover bass for you today if you get desperate but dudes, you do not want me up there with you if you can help it. This show's supposed to be all about you guys. If you can think of anyone, we can pay to get them flown in."

"Um," Brendon says, biting his lip. "Siska?" he asks dubiously.

Something jolts in Ryan's chest because he has the answer. It's been banging against the back of his brain all along; he'd just hoped to be able to ignore it for oh, approximately ever. But Brendon's looking scared, Spencer's far too pale, and even Pete sounds worried.

"We could ask Jon," Ryan says to the miles of Nevada road rolling out in front of them.

There's a full minute of silence. It's Pete who breaks it. "That's a fantastic idea, really good. Why the fuck didn't I think of that? I can get Jonny Walker on a plane before you can blink." Then, softer, "If you'll be okay with it, Ryan?"

Ryan closes his eyes. Pete Wentz should not know the embarrassing details of Ryan's love life; it's just too surreal.

"It's fine," Ryan says. He gives serious consideration to whether or not he needs to ask Spencer to pull over. He's possibly going to puke.

"Ryan," Spencer starts but no. Ryan can do this, Ryan _will _do this, but he's not going to talk about.

"Can you get him on a plane, Pete?" he interrupts. Brendon brushes his thumb over Ryan's knuckles and doesn't say a word. Ryan appreciates it. "Please."

***

Jon gets to the venue half an hour before they're due to go on and they lose another five minutes while Brendon clings to him and Spencer tries _not _to cling to him and Ryan attempts to hide himself in plain sight.

"Do you know the songs?" is the first thing Ryan says to him which is a pretty shitty first thing to say to anyone but Ryan can't say _Hi_ or _Thanks_ or _God, I missed you so much_ because he knows his voice would break on any of them.

Jon's eyes cut to his then away before Jon holds his gaze steadily. "I think so," he says. He holds up his iPod. "Good job I had you on here, huh?"

Ryan ducks his head, suddenly unable to breathe right. They'd uploaded _Fever_ to Jon's iPod from Ryan's laptop and Jon had teased the hell out of him for having his own album on his computer. Later, Jon had stolen Ryan's iPod and uploaded some tracks from his and Tom's old band for Ryan to hear and they'd lain awake into the night while Jon confessed some of the things he'd thought he was going to get to be, once upon a time.

"Okay," Spencer says, clapping his hands together and easing the tension. "This is going to be our best show ever guys, seriously, we can totally do this." He stops, frowning. "Brendon, that tambourine is not a tiara. God."

Brendon sticks his tongue out and doesn't take it off. Being ridiculous helps Brendon cope with shit; Spencer isn't actually going to do anything to get in the way of that.

Jon laughs, just a quick, startled sound that he breaks off half way through like he's not sure if it's appropriate.

Ryan risks a direct glance at him - Jon has an awesome laugh - and Jon catches him looking and smiles, sort of.

Ryan smiles back. Sort of.

***

They've got rooms in a hotel near the venue so they don't have to deal with driving back to Vegas tonight, which is seriously appreciated.

Back there after the show, Spencer says "We've got to make it official," and his eyes look very far away.

"Yeah." Ryan fiddles with his phone, turning it over and over in his hands but not quite able to make himself use it. He's aware of Brendon hovering close to Spencer and even though he can't see or hear him he's still glad to know that Jon's in the connecting room, somewhere close.

"Don't be stupid," Spencer says and he sounds harsh but for once, Ryan manages not to take it personally. "I'll make the call."

Ryan knows he shouldn't agree - this band idea has been his from the start, he should be the one to finish it - but all he can do is nod as relief washes over him. He never claimed not to be a fucking coward when it counts.

Brendon sniffs in a breath but doesn't say anything. Ryan risks a glance up at Brendon who's been shockingly, sickeningly grownup and calm throughout this, who's sheet-white and dull-eyed now, with his fingers knotted together in his lap. Ryan wills Spencer to reach over and touch some part of Brendon, just to check he's still in there, but Spencer is statue-still and locked in on himself and doesn't respond to Ryan's mental commands for once.

Ryan suddenly can't stand this. He's sitting with his two best friends basically planning to dump his other best friend and it's too much, he wants to puke or scream or totally lose his shit in ways he's never, ever let himself before.

"I have to - " he starts, standing up suddenly.

Spencer looks up at him with heavy, tired eyes. "Why don't you go check on Jon?" he suggests like this is any other day and he's feeling guilty that they've abandoned their guest. Hell, he probably is feeling that; Spencer juggles more problems than anyone else Ryan has ever met.

Not even the idea of another awkward scene with Jon is as gut-wrenching as this feels and Ryan gratefully makes his escape. He knows he _should_ feel ashamed so he hopes that counts.

Jon looks up when Ryan cards the door open. His eyes are guarded but somehow still concerned.

"How's things?" he asks, not _dumped your bassist yet?_

"Spence is calling him," Ryan says not _can I fall asleep with you and wake up when all this is over_. He crosses the room to the mini-fridge and stops in front of it, hands soaking up the cold through the top. It would be easy to open it, pull out a drink or two, just dull this a bit, but he's not going to do that. He's not that.

It feels as if Ryan's battery has run all the way down and he just stops, stands where he is and stares unseeingly at the wall. He doesn't know how long he's stuck like that, suspended animation, frozen in time but he doesn't hear Jon move until he's right behind Ryan, taking hold of his shoulders and turning him around.

"Hey, hey, hey, Ryan Ross," he says softly, tucking his hand behind Ryan's arm and leading him over to the bed.

Ryan sits down obediently and flicks his eyes up to the TV screen when Jon switches it on for him.

"Do you want to talk?" Jon asks and for some reason that makes Ryan irrationally angry because God no, he doesn't want to talk.

"You can't do anything," he says and it comes out snappish but at least the _words_ are restrained. He ignores the part where tone usually means more.

"Okay," Jon says, holding up his hands semi-seriously before Ryan can say anything else. "I know you're pissed at me, but Spencer and Brendon are my friends too. So I think I'm going to check on them unless you want me?"

It's a shitty way of phrasing it and Jon obviously realises that by the way his eyes go wide. "Yeah," Ryan says, staring firmly at the television, feeling like the Technicolor pull from the screen is the only gravity holding him together at the moment.

"Okay, then," Jon says, "Right." He stands there for another long few seconds then knocks firmly on the door connecting their rooms. After a second, Ryan hears the snick of Brendon or Spencer opening the door and letting Jon in.

This was the room they dumped all their stuff in when they arrived and Ryan's guitar is sitting propped against the other bed. Ryan leans forward to snatch it up and pulls it into his lap, resting his chin on the smooth wood and tries not to listen to the soft sounds of Jon offering Brendon and Spencer the kind of comfort that Ryan really can't.

Ryan tries his best to stay awake, brain whirring around and over what the hell they can do now, but his eyes are having none of it, slipping shut again and again until he surrenders, sliding the guitar off his lap and onto the floor, and curling up in the corner of the bed. He feels lonelier than ever in here on his own and he'd really like to go and make Spencer share with him like they always did at home but with Jon back there, he's not going to.

He doesn't know how long he sleeps, but when he blinks awake, it's to see a shadow creeping through the room.

"Jon?" Ryan asks before he can think it through, voice scratchy from sleep.

The shadow stops, turns. "Hey," Jon says quietly. He's looking at Ryan from under his eyelashes, shuffling his feet a little but not moving closer.

Ryan's neck and shoulders feel stiff, but he manages to push himself upright without too much wincing, drawing his knees up in front of himself to give his head somewhere to rest.

"Are they okay?" he asks, nodding in the general direction of Brendon and Spencer.

Jon shrugs. "Yeah. They're, you know." Ryan does know: Spencer will be stoic and Brendon will be jittering out of his skin with the effort of not being the only one showing upset; he tries not to think about the fact that Jon knows that too.

Jon's moved as far as the edge of the bed but now he hesitates. Ryan thinks he should probably want Jon to go; nothing's really changed between them, just got eclipsed by this thing with Brent. But he shifts over instead, making the space beside himself on the bed really obvious.

"What about you?" Jon asks, sitting down, "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." Ryan shrugs. "I'm, you know." Unconscious imitation and he tries to smile. It probably doesn't turn out that convincing judging by the way Jon twists towards him, concern written on his face right down to the dip of his eyebrows.

"I'm angry," Ryan finds himself saying. "And I'm freaking out."

Jon shifts closer again. Ryan gets the impression that he'd like to reach out, give Ryan a hug. The really shitty thing is that Ryan would kind of like that too.

"Hey." Jon reaches across the distance, squeezes Ryan's shoulder. Ryan holds himself tense so he doesn't lean into Jon's solid Jon-ness. "I know it doesn't solve anything long-term but I can help you guys out as long as you need me for."

Ryan's so grateful and so tired that he has to clear his throat before he can answer. "Thanks," he says. "I really. Thank you."

Jon's hand is still on Ryan's shoulder and it rubs softly before sliding down and curling around his arm, just holding on. "I didn't know things were so shitty for you guys," he says quietly. "Did you?"

Ryan shakes his head. He hates admitting that no, he didn't really have any idea. Not that it was as bad as this.

But maybe, he lets himself think, maybe it _had_ been obvious that Brent was drifting away from them, Ryan just hadn't realised how far. Ryan and Spencer and Brendon have been getting progressively closer ever since the band really became something and Ryan just sort of assumed that the same went for Brent. Brent was less demonstrative than Brendon, than Spencer even, and Ryan thought that was why it didn't feel the same.

But now Brent is gone and Ryan's safe little bubble of a world is rocking. The band is Ryan's way out. It's his _only_ way out short of magically making it as a writer really, really quickly and buying himself and Spencer - and Brendon now probably - an apartment in New York or something. The band is Ryan's only realistic way out and he can feel it starting to slip away.

"Hey," Jon says and Ryan doesn't understand why his voice is so soft, what's made him decide to ignore all Ryan's Keep Away signs and scoot right up into Ryan's space, until he goes to push his hair back and realises his face is wet.

"Oh," he says, kind of stupidly. No one's seen him cry in coming up on forever (not even Spencer and he's practically a part of Ryan) and he feels his cheeks heat up. But Jon just keeps tugging and Ryan goes, resting his head in the warm, dark, safe crook of Jon's shoulder and holding on, letting himself get held up for a while.

After a while it gets… well it doesn't get awkward, it still feels great, but Ryan knows that it should feel awkward so he moves to shift back a bit and Jon lets him. A bit. When Ryan has his own pocket of air around himself again, he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes for a moment. "Sorry," he says and he's not really talking about this brief, painfully childish moment but he's not sure whether or not he hopes Jon thinks he is.

Jon though, just smiles quietly, half to himself, and stands up. "I should leave you alone," he says. "You need to get some sleep."

"Will you -?" Ryan starts to ask, then stops himself, appalled. Apparently Brent was their testosterone supplier and without it Ryan is fast losing his balls.

Jon raises both eyebrows. "Will I?"

Ryan winces. "Nothing."

"I'll stay with you if you want," Jon says quietly. "But you have to actually ask."

Ryan looks down at his knees. They're dusty but he has no idea why. "Stay?" he says and it's not even loud enough to quite be a whisper but thankfully Jon doesn't ask him to repeat, just gets back onto the bed and lies down.

Ryan sighs, relieved, and uncurls enough to lie down beside him. Their shoulders touch and Ryan rolls his face towards Jon's warmth. When Jon doesn't protest, Ryan drops his head so his face is against Jon's shoulder. "I think I backed the wrong guy," he says quietly and hopes that makes sense.

Jon bumps him gently with knuckles against his hip. "You backed your band," he says. "That's always got to be the right thing."

"Yes, but I'm. You're -" Ryan's too tired for _words_.

"Not band," Jon says simply. "I don't compete."

Ryan wants to tell him that he does, that there's no level of importance that Jon doesn't figure on anymore, but what his mouth comes out with is, "You could be. Band. You could compete." He ducks his head because he shouldn't be saying that; he hasn't discussed it with the others yet. "I mean, maybe?"

Jon inhales roughly and presses his mouth behind Ryan's ear, breath hot. "Don't ask me that when you're all fucked up, okay? Wait until I know you mean it."

"Okay," Ryan says, because he can do that. He closes his eyes; his head is so heavy. "What should I do?" Jon isn't Spencer, but he probably still knows the answer to that.

"You should sleep," Jon tells him. He kisses Ryan's temple and Ryan turns his head blindly, fitting their mouths together in what would be a way more romantic gesture if he wasn't fighting down a yawn.

Jon laughs, pulling back. "Sleep, Ry."

"Yeah." Ryan's world is spinning crazily into darkness behind his eyes, but he's safe enough and just about secure with Jon's arms anchoring him.

***

Ryan sleeps, but not for long. He wakes while it's still dark and Jon is asleep beside him, head tilted back against the mattress, one arm still around Ryan's shoulders. Ryan uncurls himself stiffly and pads over to the door to the other room. It's dark in here, the only light a pale white glow from the moon outside the window.

Ryan pushes the door open slowly, worried for one wild moment that he won't be wanted but, when he gets it open, he's sees that Spencer is fast asleep, curled towards the wall and away from Brendon, who's lying on the edge of Spencer's bed. Protecting him, Ryan thinks, gratefully.

Brendon looks up from his Sidekick and puts a finger to his lips. "Don't wake the baby, Ross," he admonishes, the smallest of smiles on the edge of his lips. Ryan crosses to him and sits, Indian style, on the floor by the bed and leans his head on Brendon's arm.

They sit there in silence, just breathing, until Spencer makes a sad, sleepy noise and rolls over, tucking himself up against Brendon, who curves an arm around him immediately. Spencer looks washed out in the moonlight, big grey circles under his eyes, his eyelashes spiky and maybe-damp.

"He okay?" Ryan asks, voice pitched just loud enough to make sound.

"Little bit," Brendon says, putting down his Sidekick and stroking his hands through Spencer's hair. "You know he made the call so we wouldn't have to, right?"

"Yeah, I know." According to the world, Ryan and Brendon are the artistic ones, the 'sensitive' ones, and Spencer should call that for the bullshit it is, but he never does - mostly, Ryan thinks, because he likes having an excuse to take care of them.

"Ryan," Brendon says and Ryan tenses because Brendon is Mr Optimism and Ryan isn't sure he can deal with an It'll Be Okay talk right now. All Brendon says though is, "You want up?" indicating all the space on the bed that Brendon and Spencer aren't using.

Ryan shakes his head and moves his head off Brendon's arm, pillowing it on Brendon's thigh instead.

Brendon's free hand traces Ryan's cheekbone then cards Ryan's hair back off his face. Ryan smiles distantly at the sudden mental image that he gets of himself and Spencer as Evil Mastermind Brendon's fluffy white cats.

"Going back to Jon?" Brendon asks and it could be a double edged question; hell Brendon's way sneakier than he appears so it probably _is _a double edged question.

Ryan answers in the same way. "I think so."

***

It's the second night of their headlining tour - they have a headlining tour; Ryan is usually pretty cool about shit but he gives himself a minute to freak out about this - and they're in Arizona . It's hot as hell and the venue is sold out and yeah, it's strange to look to the other side of Brendon and see someone Not Brent but Ryan is feeling surprisingly good.

It starts at the beginning of Sins, when Ryan glances across at Jon, just to see, just to check, that they're as on as he thinks they are, as in sync and connected, that Jon's feeling it too, flying with them.

Jon's head's bent low over his bass, hair sweaty and bangs in his eyes. His hands are moving so fast and sure that Ryan blinks and half expects to see little cartoon stars flying from the strings, go faster stripes following them through the air. Jon's eyes are closed and he's biting down hard on his lip; it's the expression he gets at the start of sex, before he gets close, when he's just getting into it. It's intimate, so personal that Ryan wants to pull the curtain down for him, tell the crowd to close their eyes.

He messes up three chords in a row, sees Brendon turn to check he's okay and, finding he is, to smirk and shake his head in exaggerated disappointment.

When Ryan looks back at Jon, Jon's looking back at him. His eyes twitch like he's about to smile and then they flare instead, caught by something Ryan didn't even know he was projecting. Ryan feels his blush start somewhere in the line of his throat, but he doesn't look away, raises his eyebrows and smiles slow, touching his lips with the tip of his tongue and not really thinking about how slutty that's going to look until it's done and Jon is dark-eyed and distracted.

Behind them, Spencer's cymbals crash and they both jump, eye-contact breaking and releasing them back to the stage. Ryan feels wrung out and helium-filled, heavy with lust and light with the tenth grade rush of _oh god, he still wants me_.

He risks a peek behind, catching Spencer's eye. Spencer's laughing at him, but Ryan's too busy freaking out and feeling elated (and and _and_) to really care.

***

Ryan's skin feels like it's on fire, when they finally get offstage. Brendon's riding a serious adrenalin-high, bouncing madly around them all, and normally Ryan doesn't mind, normally he's feeling it too and more than happy to touch. But today the bus feels overcrowded, cramped and each and every time Brendon touches Ryan, bouncing on then off like a human pinball, Ryan has to bite back something sharp and needy.

Brendon frowns at him the fifth time. "Are you okay?" He presses close, sweaty chin against Ryan's previously non-sweaty ear. "Do you need a massage?" It's said with all the fake lasciviousness that Brendon can muster, and that's a _lot_.

Ryan twitches and shoves him off. "I need a _shower_," he says, with a pointed look designed to tell Brendon he's not the only one.

Brendon just beams. "Perfect, all that soap'll help with the friction-" he squawks when Spencer catches him in a headlock, yanking him down and away from Ryan.

"No showering with Ryan," Spencer tells him sternly. "I'll get jealous." It's deadpan and dripping sarcasm and calculated to get the perfect response from Brendon.

"Oh, _Spencer_," he cries, curling around Spencer like he's his own private blow-up doll. "I thought you'd never ask."

Spencer laughs and drags Brendon away and Ryan loves Spencer a whole hell of a lot right then.

He loves him a little less, when he realises that they've gone and left him all alone with Jon.

"Hi," Jon says. He's pressed back against the sink, waterbottle in hand. "I -" He's not quite meeting Ryan's eye.

"I really need to -" Ryan makes a vague gesture at his face; they came off stage late, didn't have time to get cleaned up back at the venue. He can feel his mascara getting soft and gooey with the heat from his body, the heat inside this overgrown tin-can.

"Sure." Jon steps away from the sink, keeping a careful three feet between them even as Ryan walks closer. God, this is awkward.

Kitchen paper and tap water make a crappy make-up remover but Ryan would rather suffer this than deal with Brendon again before the shower's had a chance to make him sleepy. He squints at the dull reflection of his eye in the back of a hanging saucepan; this could take all night, but he's not complaining because the longer he has an excuse not to look at Jon, the better.

Except -

"Stop," Jon says, voice and warmth suddenly a hell of a lot closer than they were. "You're getting it in your eye. Let me, uh -" When Ryan looks up, blinking back watery make-up that he can already feel turning the white of his eye grey, Jon's lips are twisted uncertainly but he's holding out his hand for some dry paper, wetting it before Ryan can get any words out.

"Just," Jon says, "tip your head back so I can - Yeah." Damp towel touches the corner of Ryan's eye, soft and so damn careful. Ryan's breath catches. "That's better, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ryan breathes. Jon's fingers are sure and careful on Ryan's cheek, just like they always are on Ryan - no, that's a stupid thing to be thinking about right now, it'll lead to thinking about the look in Jon's eye, the dark, lost lust, the look he got watching Ryan and oh _God_.

Ryan wants to reach out, touch the soft fabric of Jon's shirt. He digs his fingernails deep into his palms and tries to breathe regularly.

It's takes forever and Jon's warm and he smells so good that Ryan's dizzy with it all by the time Jon steps back and it's a physical ache just below his ribs not to lean into Jon's body.

"Okay?" Jon asks. He rubs his thumb over the corner of Ryan's eye. When Ryan looks at him, he blushes dully. "Smudge," he says, but it comes out broken and Ryan doesn't believe a word.

"Thanks," he says quietly. They watch each other, breath coming loud above the rattle of the bus. Jon's licking his lips and Ryan never, ever asks for what he wants, but he's okay with taking it when it's offered and he doesn't think he's wrong about this. He reaches out, curls his hands around Jon's biceps and pulls Jon in, touches their mouths together. "Can I?" he asks, far too late, drawing back just enough to talk.

Jon lips move soundlessly against Ryan's, caught somewhere between a word and a kiss. "I think you just did," he manages. And it's stupid; Ryan's maybe kissed Jon a hundred times by now, he shouldn't be this scared to do it again.

He takes a breath and presses deeper, making a fist in the collar of Jon's shirt to pull him in, trap him really, and Ryan's not above admitting it.

"Okay," Jon says after a minute, sounding hoarse, breathing hard. "Okay, so this is good. Unexpected and you're maybe choking me a little, but basically, uh, awesome?"

Ryan forces his fingers to loosen their choke hold, smoothes his thumb over the tiny dip between Jon's collarbones. When he looks up, Jon's flushed, tongue worrying the edge of his lower lip. "Unexpected?"

Jon's hands flex where they've somehow gotten wrapped around Ryan's hips and that feels stupidly good: solid and sure and strong and all the things Ryan's come to appreciate about having Jon close. He slides his arms over Jon's shoulders, knots his hands loosely behind Jon's hair.

"I kind of thought we were over," Jon tells him. He pulls back, not far, but too far and tilts his head. "Were we not over?"

Ryan looks down. He feels kind of like an idiot and he hates feeling like that. "I don't know," he confesses. "Do you want to be?"

Jon makes a noise. It's almost a laugh, would be a laugh if it weren't so frustrated. "I pretty much never wanted to stop being with you," he says.

Ryan swallows. "Okay," he manages. "That's. That's good. That's."

This time, Jon's laugh is just a laugh. "You should stop talking," he says, voice rich with affection. "You suck at it."

Ryan looks up, nodding helplessly. He does suck at it, so badly.

Jon smiles and Ryan feels something tingle in his belly. "Better," Jon tells him, leaning in so their mouths press together.

They're nothing gentle about this kiss - well there is, this is Jon, so he's careful, always so careful with Ryan, but it's also Ryan's mouth opening helplessly against Jon's tongue, teeth clacking together dully, the feel of Jon's beard on Ryan's stubble and Ryan's fingers digging too hard into Jon's back through his shirt and Jon's palms sliding flat and fast up and down Ryan's spine.

Jon tugs and Ryan stumbles forward, lost in Jon's… everything and they trip, losing balance and winding up on the floor, landing with a crash hard enough to shake the glasses on the counter.

"Shit," Jon says, shaking his head like his ears are ringing, and Ryan's just about to ask if he's okay, apologise for his suddenly-acquired klutziness, when Jon grins, laughs. "Way to sweep me off my feet, Ryan Ross," he says and Ryan laughs too, relieved.

Ryan smiles. "Smooth, huh?"

"Totally." Jon waggles his eyebrows. "And now we're lying down."

Ryan thinks that if he smiles any more his mouth will crack and that will be both embarrassing and difficult to explain. "We're also in the lounge," he says.

Jon presses his hand to the small of Ryan's back, urging his hips down. "Adds to the excitement."

Ryan can't think of anyone less likely to have an exhibitionist kink than Jon Walker, but he's too busy trying not to moan when his half-hard cock pushes against Jon's through their pants to really put that into words.

Jon makes an inarticulate sort of noise, hips shifting restlessly, hands sliding up under Ryan's shirt to touch his back, his chest, the line of sensitive skin where his pants ride low on his hips.

This is fast and hot and semi-public like the last time they did this, only Ryan tries not to think that, because that time was an ending and he knows it's stupid to hope but God does he hope that they're fixing things this time.

Behind Ryan somewhere a door slams and Jon tenses up. Ryan smiles slowly, ducking down to lick up Jon's throat. He doesn't feel exactly secure in what they're doing, but he feels safe enough to tease. "You don't think it'd be hot if Brendon walked in? Or Spencer?"

Jon tips his head back to bare more of his throat to Ryan so Ryan uses his teeth. "Jesus," Jon chokes. "Lock the door?"

Ryan really doesn't want anyone walking in on them, wants it even less than he normally would. Jon's flushed all across his nose and cheeks and his lips are startlingly red and Ryan doesn't want anyone else getting to see this, so he gets up and flicks the courtesy bolt on the door, pushes a chair up in front of it for good measure.

"Better," Jon says and when Ryan turns back to he's pulled his t-shirt off, is working on his pants.

"Yeah," Ryan agrees sincerely around a suddenly dry mouth.

Jon pushes up onto one elbow and holds out a hand. "Come here," he says, adding with a smile, "But naked first."

Ryan arches an eyebrow but it's all for show. His hands shake as he's pulling his shirt off, stepping out of his pants.

Jon rolls up onto his knees and grabs Ryan's hips, pulling him against Jon's face, nuzzling his erection through his boxerbriefs.

Ryan curses and digs his hands into Jon's hair, getting hot all over as Jon just fucking _breathes_ him in, licks and sucks messily at the shape of Ryan's cock.

"Jon," he starts but then it doesn't matter because Jon is reaching into Ryan's underwear, fingers warm and careful as he frees Ryan's cock and holds it still while he licks slowly around the head.

Ryan bites down hard on the heel of his own hand to hold back the moans. He's missed this, missed it separately from missing Jon even; their sex was always kind of amazingly good.

Jon blows him slowly, sliding up and down while Ryan makes dazed, choked little "Oh, oh," sounds and fights really hard not to come.

Jon releases the head with a pop and Ryan's cock swings a little, catches on the stubble that Jon's grown since the last time they did this. Electricity jolts through Ryan and he bites his hand again, hard enough to bleed, folding forward from the waist and only held up by Jon's hands on his hip and thigh.

"That doesn't hurt?" Jon asks curiously. Ryan can't help wondering if he's the first person Jon's been with since he stopped shaving, but he's not going to ask that.

Ryan shakes his head and Jon brushes his cheek back and forth in a gentle, almost see-sawing drag along Ryan's cock.

"Only, only in a good way," Ryan half stutters and feels Jon's mouth curve into a smile before he opens his eyes to see it. "What?"

"Some pain kink I didn't know about?" Jon asks, eyes dark.

Ryan isn't going to say _ a you kink_; he'd die of embarrassment if the shame of using such a horrible cliché didn't get him first, but yeah, that's sort of it. Jon has stubble now so Ryan likes it. Jon could possibly grow a tail and tusks and Ryan would get turned on by it.

He pushes at Jon's shoulders a little, telegraphing his moves so Jon's ready when Ryan lowers himself to sit over Jon's lap.

"Hi," Jon says and kisses him. Ryan rolls his hips against Jon's denim-covered lap and tries not to crawl out of his skin. "You're different when you're getting laid," Jon tells him thoughtfully and Ryan doesn't, _doesn't _flinch.

"Bad different?" he asks, not thinking about the fact that these last few weeks have been the only time Jon's known him when he wasn't having sex with him. He tries not to freak out that he might only be interesting when there's orgasms involved.

"More confident." Jon's hand finds Ryan's cock, jacks him slowly while his other hand slides back to Ryan's ass, teasing at his hole with fingers that have somehow gotten spit-damp.

Ryan pushes his face into Jon's shoulder and pants for breath. What Jon calls confident, Ryan's always accepted as slutty, but he's not going to argue now, not when Jon breaches him with the tip of one finger, then two. Not when Jon's hand tightens around Ryan's cock and Ryan comes until his ears ring.

He slumps forward onto Jon's shoulder, scraped open and shaking with aftershocks. Jon kisses his temple, pets his hair, and doesn't so much as nudge him with the erection that's digging bluntly into the soft part of Ryan's lower-belly.

Ryan squirms his hand down between them and strokes his fingertips soothingly over Jon's cock. It's hot under his hand and he really wants to taste it only, as stupid as it feels, he doesn't want to move that far away from Jon. So he jerks Jon off instead, twisting his wrist how he knows Jon likes, listening for the shuddering inhale that he always gives right before he comes and kissing Jon hard when he hears it.

"Oh fuck," Jon says, dragging his mouth away and coming over Ryan's fist. He drops his head against Ryan's shoulder and Ryan smiles kind of goofily because no one can see him.

They sit there for what feels like a long time, growing sticky and a little cold but Jon keeps stroking Ryan's hips and his spine, tiny little touches that Ryan's been missing and he's not going to move until Jon asks him to.

Eventually though he can't hold back his shivers and Jon shifts under him. "We should get dressed," he says and he sounds regretful. Ryan hopes he is.

Ryan pulls his pants and t-shirt back on but doesn't bother with his underwear. He smiles when he sees Jon do the same.

Then, abruptly, they're dressed and looking at each other and it's awkward again. They broke up, they broke up for a reason that isn't erased now simply because Brent left, and they haven't exactly talked, just shifted around each other for a few weeks until finally _this_.

"You go ahead," Jon says, indicating where the bunks are. "I need to call someone."

Reality brushes the edges of Ryan's sex haze; Jon could have someone else, it's been long enough that Ryan couldn't even be an asshole about it.

But, "Tom," Jon clarifies quickly. "He left me a voicemail during the show. So now I have to call him and gossip about how awesome you are and shit." He grins. "In a totally manly way of course."

"I think you'll find _you're_ the awesome one," Ryan says just so his mouth is busy and he can't say _thank God_ or _please don't ever date anyone who isn't me_. "Ask Brendon."

Jon just smiles, shaking his head and pulling out his Sidekick.

***

Back at the bunks, Ryan does the first thing he thinks of and goes to Spencer's bunk. There's a Brendon there, wearing cotton PJs with bunnies on them and curled up asleep with his head on Spencer's stomach. Ryan definitely remembers days when he got to visit Spencer without finding Brendon there.

Spencer looks up at Ryan from over the top of the magazine he's reading and lightly touches Brendon's hair. "He doesn't like people who aren't him having sex on the bus," Spencer says seriously but Ryan knows where to look for the smirk and finds it.

"Damn right," Brendon says sleepily, cracking one eyes open. "I hope you didn't get anything disgusting on our sofa."

Ryan chokes out a half-scandalised laugh but he knows it isn't convincing. He's sort of stupidly buoyed at the moment. "Like what?" he asks, climbing in on Spencer's other side.

"Like _spunk_, Ross."

And this time Ryan can't stop himself laughing and blushing simultaneously. "What about Jon?" he asks, pressing against Spencer's side so he can look down at Brendon while they hold their ridiculously conversation.

"Jon Walker is awesome," Brendon tells him firmly. "He would never get his spunk on my sofa cushions."

"Damn right," Jon's voice calls from the lounge and Ryan hides his head in Spencer's hair and laughs helplessly.

***

Epilogue:

It takes them too long to ask Jon to become permanent. They're all cautious and it has nothing to do with Jon really. Jon says he understands but Ryan still feels shitty for it.

Jon is a better bassist than Brent. Much better. But even more importantly he has enthusiasm, he wants to be there, he loves their band, which the crowd seem to pick up on straight away, warming to Jon in a way that they'd all, secretly, been scared wouldn't happen.

When they finally ask him, it's backstage just before a show. Jon's hand spasms around Ryan's, his grip tight enough to leave Ryan's hand aching all set, but "Yes," he says, "Fuck yes, of course."

They fly through their set, something that's been wrong settling back down into place. Brendon laughs straight into the microphone then laughs harder at the feedback and Spencer keeps smiling, though he's clearly trying to fight it.

And Jon… the second they're off stage, barely out of sight of the crowd, Jon is grabbing Ryan and kissing him, shoving him straight up against the nearest wall and making out with him hungrily like it isn't two hours since they last did this, like the rest of the band and techs and assorted background crew can't see.

"Thank you," Jon's saying into Ryan's mouth and Ryan thinks he should probably say that no, Jon's saved _them_, but he kind of likes the taste of thanks in Jon's mouth so he lets it go on a little longer.

Spencer's laughing in the background, saying something and Brendon's whistling at them. Ryan tries to flip them off, but can't quite get his hands far enough away from Jon's chest for it to be effective.

Jon tips his head, catches his stubble gently over Ryan's cheek, whispers low in his ear, "I mentioned that thing where I'm in love with you, right?"

Ryan smiles into the curve of Jon's jaw, prepared to shrug it off because of course Jon loves him right now; Ryan loves everyone he's ever met when he's feeling like this. But there's something scared in the clutch of Jon's fingers and, when Ryan opens his eyes, Jon's looking brave and terrified and Ryan thinks _oh_.

"Uh," Ryan says, telling his voice not to shake. "Sure?" Jon's expression starts to fall and, "No," Ryan says, almost interrupting himself, "No, God, that's not what I meant. I meant. I meant me too; I swear I did."

"Yeah?" Jon asks, the corner of his mouth turning up so high, Ryan thinks he might break something. "That's good, cos I kind of want to fuck you against this wall and if I do Spencer will kill me, so it'd be really cool to be able to say I died for love."

Ryan laughs, tries to anyway, except his brain is stuck on _love_ with occasional detours to _fuck you against this wall_. "That," he says, tipping his head back so Jon's kisses can trail down his throat. "Is a fucking awesome idea."

"Get a room," someone says in the background.

They do.

/End


End file.
